


(summer is over) and i wanna leave you satisfied

by patdkitten



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ballet Dancer Louis Tomlinson, Barebacking, Hockey, M/M, Miscommunication, Prince Harry Styles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24119077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patdkitten/pseuds/patdkitten
Summary: On the very last night of his summer break in London, Louis Tomlinson hooks up with a hot guy. When he gets back home, his roommates tell him that they're going to be getting a new roommate. Said roommate? The same hot guy he hooked up with back in London: Harry Styles, who's looking for a quiet place to go to school and just wants to keep his head down. Funny how he keeps getting noticed, though....
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 27
Kudos: 472
Collections: One Direction Big Bang Round 3





	(summer is over) and i wanna leave you satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Come Under The Covers by Walk The Moon
> 
> This is the Prince and Me AU that no one really asked for. It's also a fic that takes place almost entirely in Green Bay, Wisconsin. So, while this is a work of fiction, both the campus of University of Wisconsin Green Bay and the USHL hockey team the Green Bay Gamblers exist (and yes, Ace the Bobcat is the mascot!)
> 
> Now on to a few acknowledgements.
> 
> First and foremost: my artist March-z5 did an amazing job on the moodboard and playlist. She also took the time to beta my fic, so any further mistakes are mine. You can find her amazing playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3tO4pnzDwEGP1J0EPCqLZF?si=Jz6Ba5Y0RYGaDfbZdAw97A)
> 
> Secondly, a big big B I G thanks to Lorna, who cheerleaded me through this process, and who kept me on track right to the end. Now, I get to make her Siri read a barebacking fic when she heads back to work!

  


The rich, dulcet tones of the very generic Apple song By The Seashore is what rips Louis out of a dead sleep at 4:30AM. He groans, fumbling a bit to find his phone on the nightstand, but manages to hit the stop button on the alarm before the song gets even more obnoxious.

He considers burying his head into his pillow, grab five more wonderful minutes of sweet blissful sleep, but he discards the idea almost as soon as he has it. As much as he hates the fact that he’s awake and he’d rather not know a 4AM even exists while on vacation, he’s got a flight back home to catch. A flight that signifies that his summer vacation is officially and unfortunately over.

More’s the pity, he thinks as he shoves the sleep heavy (and sleep warm) arm of his bed companion off him to get up. Somehow, the other man - Ed? Edwin? Something that starts with E, he thinks - completely slept through Louis’ blaring alarm. Lucky asshole. Although, considering Louis is currently in the hotel room the other man’s paying for, maybe Louis is the real lucky bastard.

He forces himself to get up out of the plush bed and pads bare ass naked to the bathroom to get ready to catch his flight home. It’s not much: a cursory shower to wash off the last remaining remnants of a rather fun last night in London and an equally cursory teeth brushing. But it’s enough to wake him up to make sure he’s packed.

Somehow, _somehow_ , during his moving around (because how the hell did half of his suitcase that had been packed the night before end up over half a room he’d only spent the night in), Eric continues to sleep. If it wasn’t for the faint snoring, Louis’d be worried the other man had died in the night.

Hell, he feels a bit like… Well, like a one night stand trying to sneak out without waking the other. Even if he is a one night stand, since they’d only met last night. And he is trying to sneak out without talking to the sleeping man.

He’s just confirmed his Uber when the man finally stirs, smacking his lips as green eyes, still heavy with sleep, open to land questioningly on Louis. He - Edward, Louis’ brain finally supplies, definitely Edward - takes a long moment to look Louis up and down, like he’s trying to place him before his gaze finally lands on Louis’ face.

“Hey,” Edward says slowly, sleepily, like his brain hasn’t caught up with the rest of him. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, the thin white hotel bed sheet doing very little to cover his lap so Louis can see the soft curve of the other man’s dick resting limply against a muscular thigh. Louis had been quite intimate with both that dick and those muscular thighs last night. Maybe if he didn’t have to go so quickly…?

One hand comes up to ruffle sleep mussed brown hair, and Louis remembers being intimate with those long fingers too. His thoughts are all racing south, making him want to forget that his Uber is close to arriving, that he has to go back to the States in a few short hours. That he has school, roommates, a pet cat. An entire life outside of this room.

As if he’s aware of where Louis’ thoughts are wandering, Edward smiles, all sleep slow and sweet. “You should come back to bed, love.”

The slow, posh British accent almost does Louis in, dripping with innuendo as it is. Only the text message from his Uber driver arriving stops him.

“I gotta go,” He says, showing the text as proof, shouldering his backpack like a piece of battle armor.

“Maybe….” Edward drawls out slow and measured, a cowboy with a British accent, “I could get your number? Whatsapp you?”

_Yes_. That’s what Louis wants to say. It’s on the tip of his tongue, to say that last night had been great, that maybe they should do it again. They should definitely do it again. But then reality sets in. He’s probably never going to be in London any time soon, and he’s pretty sure Edward isn’t going to be hopping on a plane to Wisconsin for a booty call.

“This was fun,” is what he finally says instead, leaning forward to brush his lips against the other man’s. A mistake, his brain immediately tells him, but he ignores it.”But let’s not make last night into anything it wasn’t, yeah?”

He gives a little wave as he leaves without receiving a response, going for a nonchalance he doesn’t actually feel, heading from the hotel room with his things.

The hotel room door slamming shut behind him makes it all feel final, although Louis isn’t quite sure why he feels like everything’s gone astray. It was a one night stand, after all, two strangers looking for a bit of fun on a warm London summer night. No need to make it anything more, try to be friends afterward when they won’t see each other now that a door, and soon an entire ocean, separates them.

So why does he feel like Sandy Duncan leaving the beach at the beginning of Grease?

  
  
  


11 hours and a longer than expected break in Detroit later, Louis’ plane finally touches down at gold old Austin Straubel in good old Green Bay. Louis had been born and raised in Los Angeles, but after a campus visit to a college that hadn’t been high on his list but high on his mother’s, Green Bay, Wisconsin felt as much like home as LA ever had. Even with that first winter being unlike anything he was used to.

Green Bay is also a bit cooler than London had been, Louis’s pleased to note as he finally leaves the squat building. His eyes roam over the smaller parking lot and the long driveway that circles past the arrival/departure entrances, trying to see if his ride was there. Sure enough, one of his roommates had shown up. Not that he’d expect anything less from someone as dependable as his roommate, Liam Payne.

“Still a Yank then?” Liam greets him with a teasing grin and a tight hug. Louis had met Liam as well as their other roommate, Niall Horan, three years prior in a gen ed class, and had quickly become best friends. A native of Chicago, Liam had been new to the area when they’d met, and, like Louis, had not been a Packers fan, but it had been Liam’s idea to pool their funds and rent a house together. Niall had grown up in Wisconsin and knew a bit about Green Bay, even though he was from the Milwaukee area himself.

“Still a Yank,” Louis responds, hugging Liam just as tightly. He’d only been in London for two weeks but he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed his friend. He did, however, remember that he missed his cat more. “How’ve you been? And how’s my cat?”

“I’m fine, and you know she’s getting fat as we speak,” Liam teases, taking Louis’ suitcase from him to put in the back of his SUV. “She’s stationed herself at Niall’s side and you know how that goes.”

Knowing exactly how much both Niall and his cat, Aria, love food, Louis does know how that goes: she’s getting all the human food she could possibly want, the spoiled creature. He’d gotten the fluffy feline shortly from a local shelter after they’d gotten the house and, in return, she’d gotten him through more than a couple stressful exam times and bouts of homesickness. While he’d been in London on vacation, his roommates (ungrudgingly, because she’d offered the same comfort to them) had been watching her for him. Which meant that she’d been spoiled senseless out of pity that Louis had been gone. He’d have to make it up to her when he gets home.

The ride home is pretty uneventful. Louis tells Liam about his vacation, leaving out the one night stand on his last night, while Liam returns the favor by filling him in on the things he’d missed the two weeks he’d been gone. The SUV turns into their driveway just as Liam’s stream of updates finally trails off into an unsure, hesitating sound.

“Hey, Lou, you’ve got a say in all house doings and changes,” Liam begins, awkwardly, like he’s expecting Louis to veto whatever’s going to come out of the man’s mouth next. It makes Louis, who’d spent the twenty minute drive from the airport across town with his feet up on the dash, put them down on the floor mat and turn toward Liam instead of getting out of the vehicle. Something in Liam’s tone - the unsureness perhaps - has Louis wondering if Liam’s going to suggest they reorganize the chore chart so things are more equal, or tell him that despite the fact his roommates love Aria, and that she’s been a great comfort to them when necessary, the feline is just too much of a nuisance around the house to keep for much longer. But whatever fears Louis might’ve had, whatever concerns his brain, addled by the long day he’d had, are gone because what does come out of Liam’s mouth isn’t even close to any of them.

“How do you feel about another roommate going into the new semester?”

“I beg your pardon?” Louis asks, completely dumbfounded, as he gets out of the vehicle, trying to put off any further response while he considers it. It’s not like they don’t have the room, after all; it’s a four bedroom house, and the one bedroom they have open, they’ve been using as a guest bedroom. And it’s certainly not like having another person in the house is a bad idea; the three of them all have jobs in addition to their classwork, not to mention that both Niall and Liam are athletes and because of his degree, Louis spends plenty of time on campus in the dance studios practicing. Having a fourth person in the house would be helpful.

“A roommate,” Liam repeats carefully as he gets out as well, walking around the SUV to retrieve Louis’ suitcase. Like doing as many nice things as possible keeps Liam off Louis’ shit list for this. “Niall knows a guy somehow who’s transferring to our school in the fall and doesn’t want to do the whole dorm life thing. Wants his privacy, I guess.”

Of course Niall knows a guy. Niall always knows a guy. It’s been a running joke since they met the Milwaukee native that Niall has two things going for him: he knows the best places to eat and he seems to know at least one person no matter where they go. Louis isn’t even surprised that Niall knows a guy who happens to be what they need when they need it, even if they haven’t talked about adding another roommate before this.

“Why not get an apartment then?” Louis wonders, not about to just outright say he’s cool with this because it would help out a lot. In fact, he’s starting to feel like this new roommate is already a done deal, that Liam has already met this guy and just wants to give Louis a heads up that someone new is moving in. “Surely, he can find one in this city within his price range that’d be more private than a house with three other guys and a cat.”

“He doesn’t want to be lonely. Thinks he’d go stir crazy living on his own completely.” Liam tells him as he leads the way to the front door. “So you’re on board with him coming to live with us?”

Is he? Is he on board with an absolute stranger he’s never met moving into their house without meeting them beforehand? Even if Niall knows this guy personally, it sounds like the perfect start to a horror film and Louis can see this whole thing going downhill fast. But then again…

“Sure,” He finally says. “But only if I like him.”

  
  
  
  
  


The downside to not working, not performing, not practicing for two weeks is that Louis is sore. He wants nothing more than to climb into a warm, soothing bath and soak out the aches from a practice session Louis’d pushed himself through. It wasn’t even a complicated routine; it had been a really easy routine, but because he hadn’t kept up, he’s suffering for it after.

He knows that he’s going to be alone in the house as he pulls into the driveway, parking in his spot. It’s early evening, but Liam’s busy with hockey practice until much later in the evening and Niall is at one of the ranges, shooting a bucket of golf balls to practice his swing.

He lets himself into the quiet house, surprised that Aria isn’t waiting for him at the door. He assumes that just means she’s asleep in some comfy place and will appear at will during his soak, as cats are wont to do.

It’s with that mindset that he climbs the stairs to the second floor, focused solely on how much he wants that bath. But all thoughts of the bath or the whereabouts of his cat immediately flee as he walks into his bedroom to collect his pajamas on his way to the ensuite bathroom.

There’s someone, some man, standing in his bedroom. His bedroom. He takes a few minutes to study the intruder as he digs his phone out of his back pocket to dial 911, all the better to give a good description to the police.

The intruder is tall, with short brown hair tucked up under a dark blue hat Louis would expect an elderly man to wear, or maybe Niall (probably, definitely Niall). He’s dressed in a grey hooded t-shirt and black skinny jeans, the hems of which are tucked into scuffed, but otherwise well cared for, brown suede ankle boots. It’s not an outfit Louis would have expected an intruder to wear, figuring that an intruder would go for an outfit that would hide their appearance, but what does he know?

He’s just about to hit the green connect button on 911 when the intruder turns, thoughtful gaze trailing over all the things in Louis’ room, and oh. Oh. Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is he doing on this side of the ocean?

Louis doesn’t even feel his cellphone fall from his grasp, but the sound of it hitting the carpeted floor makes Edward’s attention to him.

A crease appears in the center of Edward’s forehead, like he’s trying to place how he knows Louis, but then the crease smooths out and the warm grin that had made Louis weak in the knees back at that pub in London makes an appearance. “Hey, love. Still not going to give me your number so I can Whatsapp you?”

Louis wonders how someone can forget a one night stand that happened only a few days ago, even if Edward eventually remembered him. Does Edward do one night stands that often that he forgets what his partners look like? But he doesn’t say anything right away, bending down to retrieve his phone as he tries to gather his thoughts away from memories better left an ocean away. As he straightens back up, though, he realizes two things: one, he definitely regrets bending down to pick up his phone, and Edward is holding Aria just the way she likes, stroking her soft fur. The cat is clearly content about the whole thing because he can hear her loud motor purr.

He doesn’t know what he wants to say, but “What are you doing here?” is what finally comes out. It’s not a particularly fine moment for him.

“School,” Edward says simply, adjusting his grip on Aria so the cat can hop onto Louis’ messy bed. He says it in such a tone that Louis thinks that’s going to be all the info he’s going to get when the other man continues. “Your roommate Niall is a mate of mine, and said I could come room with you lads.”

Which. What? He remembers Liam saying something about Niall having a friend who was transferring to their college and needing a place to live, that they were going to get another roommate. But he doesn’t remember anything about the new roommate being British. Not that he was given much information on the new roommate other than they were transferring and wanted more privacy than a dorm provided.

“You’re Niall’s friend? The new roommate?” He repeats dumbly, feeling a bit like he’d been run over by a truck. He knows that Niall and Liam don’t know he hooked up with someone over in London, never mind that the person he’d hooked up with in London was the new roommate and Niall’s friend. He wonders if he can get out of this, convince Liam and Niall that this isn’t going to work out long term. That he is physically incompatible with this man (god, is he ever compatible with this man), that he cannot physically be in the same space as him (he wants nothing more than to be in the messy bed nearby, naked, with this man)

Edward hesitates, gnawing at his lower lip like he’s having the same reservations now that Louis’ having. “Is this… going to be a bad thing? It’s not going to work out, is it?”

He looks so upset by the prospect, like the very idea he’d made Louis uncomfortable by his presence bothers him, that Louis finds himself shaking his head. At least, that’s what he tells himself: that he’s only trying to make Edward feel better because he doesn’t like seeing him upset. It has nothing, nothing, to do with the fact that Louis definitely wants a repeat of that one night stand.

(It has everything to do with the fact that Louis wants that to be a repeat performance.)

“No, it’ll work out. We’re two adults who had a consenting, wild night a few nights ago,” _‘and I bailed because I was sure I’d never see you again and had to catch my flight home’,_ his traitorous mind (and equally traitorous dick) supplies. “It won’t affect anything now.” _‘God, I want a repeat performance of that wild night. Do you?’_

“Great!” Edward beams, happily, stroking Aria with his long fingers. Despite Louis saying that it wouldn’t affect them being roommates, his brain is reminding him of what those fingers had done back in London. All the things they had done.

Maybe instead of that long soak for his aching muscles, Louis should have a cold shower instead.

He clears his throat, thumb coming up to point toward the stairs. “I, uh. Hate to be rude, but I just got done with a rather lengthy practice sesh, and want nothing more than to go soak in the tub. So I um.”

Edward blinks owlishly at him for a moment before startling, green eyes going wide and his mouth opening in a perfect ‘O’. Neither helps with where Louis’ dirty mind is currently. “Oh! Niall told me you’re a dancer. And here I’m gawking around your bedroom like a bloody tourist. I’m sorry.” He steps around Louis with a warm smile. “Let me get out of your hair then.”

“Thanks.” Louis says, beginning to close the door to his bedroom before the wording makes him pause. The last time he’d seen Edward, the man had long brown hair that curled. Now, though, although it’s mostly obscured by the Packers cap, it’s been cropped considerably shorter. “Didn’t you use to have long hair?”

Edward’s eyes go wide again before he breaks out in a blinding smile, like he’s surprised Louis remembers something like that. “I did!” He takes the cap off, running a many-ringed hand through the short hair to where it’s cropped close at the back. It looks like a gesture that he’s still getting used to. “I needed a new look.”

Between that and the hookup they’d had, Louis’ opinion of the other man slightly adjusts. “Bad breakup there, Eddie?”

Edward’s smile softens as he boyishly scratches the back of his head. “Something like that.” The hand behind his head moves, pointing down the hall. “It’s the closed door at the end, yeah? My room?”

At Louis’ nod, he starts to walk that way. Louis takes it as a hint that the conversation is now over and he can shut his door. But before it’s closed completely, Edward gets out one last thing.

“I lied to you, by the way.”

Louis opens the door again in surprise, just to find Edward back at his bedroom door. “Huh?”

“In London.” Edward shifts his weight embarrassed. The movement makes Louis glance down quickly to discover the other man stands pigeon-toed. “My name’s not Edward. Well, it is, but it’s my middle name.”

Louis frowns, confused at this confession. “You gave a hookup your middle name?”

“Wasn’t expecting to see you again.” Edward’s voice is soft. He’s taller than Louis by a few inches, but his body posture makes it seem like he’s shorter. “You should call me Harry. It’s my first name.”

“Harry then.” Louis smiles after a moment, liking how the name fits on his tongue far, far better than Edward had. “And, um. For the sake of honesty, I’m Louis.”

“I know.” Harry echoes Louis’ smile, looking amused, even though he already had Louis’ name from the hookup. “May have gotten a rundown on the roommates from Niall when he said it was okay.” He shuffles closer, like he wants to kiss Louis (Louis wouldn’t push him away at all), but suddenly thinks better of it. “You don’t look like a Liam anyway.”

This close, Louis can see every fleck of amber, every tiny fleck of blue that turns Harry’s otherwise green eyes into a warmer hazel. He’s never been much of an eye guy, but Harry’s eyes threaten to pull him in whenever he looks into them. They certainly had back in London, just as much as that warm smile. They’d held him all through that night, and he swallows unthinkingly.

“I’m definitely not a Liam,” is what he finally gets out, hearing it come out as more of a squeak than anything else. It’s a bit embarrassing, to say the least. Cold shower, stat. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder pointing at the ensuite bathroom. “I’m gonna be.. In there. If you need me.”

Harry doesn’t respond, like he’s more than well aware of where Louis’ thoughts had traveled, just smiles that smile of his before turning to go. With a trill, Aria follows him out, fluffy tail held aloft.

Louis practically hightails it across the room to his bathroom. He may not take that cold shower, but no one else needs to know he rubs one out after his long soak.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Even though he knows, rationally, having hopped into bed with the man the same night he’d met him, that Harry’s a pretty great person, Louis’ still surprised as all hell that Harry seems to get along well with everyone he meets. No, getting along with everyone he meets isn’t quite the way to put it.

Harry fucking _charms_ everyone he meets. It’d make Louis feel like an easy fucking lay with how fast that charm had gotten him in bed with the man, except… despite the fact that Louis sees more than one girl, and more guys than he would’ve expected, give their number to Harry, Harry never calls them.

That’s not politeness for his roommates’ behalf, Louis knows. Harry can definitely have company over, can do whatever he wants in the room he’s staying in provided he gives the other three guys a head’s up.

Louis knows that it’s not politeness because Liam eventually calls Harry out on it a couple weeks after the semester started.

It’s not even a conversation Louis’ a part of, so much as it’s a conversation that Harry and Liam are in the middle of when they come back from hockey practice over at the Resch. Or rather, Harry had followed Liam _to_ hockey practice to get out of the house and to satisfy a curiosity he’d said he’d had.

“You _can_ have guests over, you know,” Liam’s in the middle of saying as the door swings open. He’s preceded by the large duffel bag he uses when he enters, trailed by Harry. “She was cute. You should call her up or something.”

“Or something.” Harry intones dryly, his British accent making the words sound like he’d rather do anything _but_ call whichever girl had given him her number this time. Liam’s busy with putting his duffel in the front closet, but Harry’s gaze lands on Louis where Louis’ sprawled on the couch definitely not reading the required reading for his theatre history class that started a few days ago. What can Louis say other than watching a performance of The Sleeping Beauty ballet by the London Ballet sounded like a better use of his time? “I’m just not interested in pursuing anything with just anyone right now.”

Even though his gaze is definitely on Louis, Louis gets the feeling that Harry’s not really directing the comment at him but is continuing the conversation he was having with Liam. The feeling is amplified when Harry crosses the room to the couch, settling at the far end with only minimal moving of Louis’ feet into Harry’s lap.

“But it’s not _anything_.” Liam protests, shutting the closet door with a decided thump. “It’s just a hookup. It’s not a relationship.”

Harry’s only been in the house a couple weeks by now, but he already seems to know when Louis’ been in the studio practicing because those long fingers that Louis finds so distracting are already starting to rub soothing circles into ballet sore feet even as he answers Liam.

“I don’t want to hookup with just anyone.” Harry’s voice is soft, but amused, his focus on the television where Aurora’s dancing with her suitors on her sixteenth birthday. Louis still hasn’t told Liam and Niall about having hooked up with Harry, and from the looks of it, Harry clearly hasn’t told them earlier. The man’s fingers push into the ball of Louis’ left foot as his gaze leaves the tv to look over at Liam. “Besides, I’m gonna be quite busy now that your coach is letting me join the Gamblers with the rest of you.”

Louis shifts on the couch, flinching only a little at the mix of sharp pain and sweet relief the foot massage is doing to his sore feet. He can’t be blamed that he latches on the hockey part of the conversation and not the hookup part of it. “You’re really joining that hockey team with him? Thought you only wanted out of the house.”

“I can skate.” Harry glances over at Louis, smiling warmly at him. It settles a little _too_ warmly in Louis’ belly for Louis’ taste, especially since it looks like Harry doesn’t want to hook up with anyone, much less him, so he kicks a bit at Harry’s hands just to see what the other man would do. And, fuck him, but those long fingered hands just casually go along with the movement like Harry’d expected it to happen. They don’t even stop their even pressured massaging of Louis’ arch. “Had to borrow a teammate’s skates to show the coach and made a couple goals. I didn’t play over in London, so I’ll have to get my own gear before the next practice.” His gaze drops down to Louis’ feet and his fingers working them over. “You should come watch a game, Louis.”

“I go whenever they’re in town.” Louis says, propping himself up and leaning toward Harry. He’s not looking at Liam, but he can see the unreadable expression that crosses his roommate’s face out of the corner of his eye. Whatever it’s supposed to mean, whatever had crossed Liam’s mind at his reaction to Harry joining the junior league Liam plays for, Louis doesn’t get an answer for because Liam heads into the kitchen instead of continuing the conversation that Louis had butted into.

He glances toward the kitchen, making sure Liam can’t overhear them, before he squirms up to a sitting position. The movement causes his feet to pull from Harry’s hands and makes the other man blink over at him in clear confusion.

“I wasn’t done.” Harry finally says after a few minutes of them just staring at each other, the silence only broken by the sweeping sounds of Tchaikovsky’s ballet.

“You don’t hook up with just anyone?” They haven’t spoken about the hookup since the first day Harry had moved in, and back then, Louis had had the impression that Harry hadn’t minded hooking up with, well, _just anyone_ . Sure, maybe discussing it out in the living room where Liam, who doesn’t know their history together, could wander back into this conversation to argue another point about how taking a cute girl out on a date or to Harry’s bed is a good idea. But Louis hasn’t been given a better opportunity to discuss it than this. “You hooked up with _me_ , remember.”

Harry turns toward Louis on the couch, using Louis’ legs to pull him closer, practically making Louis fall into the other man’s lap. Not only have they not discussed the hookup since the first day Harry had moved in, they also haven’t been this close since then. Sure, Harry’s rubbed Louis’ tired feet and calves before, but it was usually like it had been when this conversation had started: they’d been separated by the length of the couch.

The other man’s hands rest on Louis’ thighs, securing him to his perch in Harry’s lap. “I did hookup with you in London,” Harry says softly, like he’s just as worried about Liam coming in as Louis is, but is more interested in having this conversation now than waiting for a better time. “But you’re hardly anyone, even if I did give you my middle name instead of my given name.”

“You can have company over.” Louis protests, weakly, unable to think clearly with Harry this close. Harry, who had just admitted that he wasn’t just anyone to him. He isn’t even sure why he’s telling Harry to just go sleep with whoever he wants, because just the thought of Harry sleeping with someone else feels like a heavy weight in the pit of Louis’ stomach even though Louis doesn’t really have any claim on the other man.

Harry’s green eyes rove over Louis’ face, looking for something there, but what, Louis’ not sure. He doesn’t know if Harry found it when Harry finally speaks again. “I seem to have given you the wrong impression, both in London and when I first arrived. I’m not interested in hooking up with just anyone, because I don’t really _do_ hookups. Things are... “ He trails off, glancing toward the kitchen, but the banging around in that room means Liam’s busy for a while yet. “Really complicated for me back home. So I don’t want to hook up with just anyone, or…” His voice trails off, gaze dropping to Louis’ lips briefly while his tongue darts out to lick his own. “Start anything that could lead to something more.”

Oh _god_ . Louis knows what _that_ means. He’s slept with a man who’s already got someone in their life. He might’ve been unaware of Harry’s relationship status, so he can’t be blamed entirely for helping Harry cheat on his partner. He feels his face start to burn and he begins to pull away, but Harry’s grip on his thighs tighten.

“I wouldn’t mind a repeat of what happened in London,” Harry goes on, like he’s not actively planning on continuing to cheat on his partner. As much as he wants to do the same, Louis feels so terrible for the unsuspecting partner. “But only if you’re down for it.”

Louis opens his mouth to say no, to say anything, but he’s saved by Niall arriving home and dropping his golf bag by the door. He pulls away quickly, hurrying off to his bedroom. He can feel Harry’s eyes burning a hole in his back even as he hears Niall ask what that was all about.

  
  
  
  
  


There’s a group of 3 or 4 girls tittering by the doorway, like a small group of chirping birds. It’s rather annoying and distracting, Louis thinks, as he rests the heel of one foot on the barre and stretches his leg out. He’s grateful that class is over, that he can go home to an empty house and soak in a warm bath with Aria the only company he needs. He bends forward, putting more strain on the muscles as he cools down from the extensive workout class had given him.

It takes him a moment to notice the tittering has gotten louder, closer, when someone speaks up.

“Didn’t know you could stretch like that.”

He knows that voice, that warm thick accent. Louis straightens up, leg coming off the barre and bare foot hitting the floor with a soft thud as he turns to Harry wide eyed. He hasn’t spoken to Harry since the British man had said he wouldn’t mind a repeat of what had happened in London. He’s gone out of his way to leave whatever room he finds Harry in or that Harry enters, just to avoid the awkwardness of knowing that he’d helped the man cheat. It’s been an awkward two weeks to say the least, and he knows it’s getting on both Niall and Liam’s nerves, even if the other two men aren’t telling them to straighten their shit out.

Harry’s dressed the way he usually is when he’s got classes: the worn scuffed suede ankle boots, the artfully ripped black skinny jeans, the well-worn leather messenger bag slung low on one hip. The black and gold Gamblers jersey is new, though. Louis had heard, through Liam, that Harry had been assigned a number and that the company that made the team’s merch was already starting to crank out jerseys with Harry’s last name of Styles and his number, 28. If it hadn’t been for the awkward disaster that Louis had put himself in, he’d have put in an order just to support his roommate.

“If I’d known you were a ballet dancer back in London…” Harry’s voice drops conspiratorially, British accent making the comment even more dirty. Harry might not have known Louis was a ballet dancer specifically, but they'd both been quite aware of just how flexible Louis can be when properly motivated.

Louis swallows thickly, thankful that he’s wearing loose fitting sweatpants today and not anything more revealing. He might feel awkward toward Harry and guilty about what he’d unknowingly contributed to, but fuck if Harry’s charm and voice don’t do things to him. “What…” He clears his throat when his voice sticks, gaze darting over to the clearly gossiping girls, who are shooting looks between Harry and himself. The girls are all wearing matching expressions: like they want to know how he knows Harry. He’s pretty sure he’s never talked to them in anything more serious than a passing conversation about class.

“What are you doing here?” He says when he can finally get it out, get his voice working again.

“Wanted to see you.” Harry says simply, like it hasn’t been two weeks since they spoke last. Like it hasn’t been awkward between them. He digs into his messenger bag, pulling out a black, white and gold jersey and holding it out to Louis. “And wanted to give you this before my first big game.”

The tittering nearby stops in an almost audible gasp as Louis takes the offered jersey slowly, unsurely. As his fingers touch the fabric, he knows, just _knows_ that unlike the Gamblers jersey he’s got for Liam, this one isn’t a replica of the team’s. He unfolds it, taking in the black shoulders separated from the white of the main part of the jersey by a solid gold line, and the gold and black lines on the arms of the sleeves just above the black cuffs. Ace, the Gamblers’ mascot smirks and winks at him from the round Gamblers logo on the front below the black ties of the neck. He doesn’t need to turn the jersey around to know what it says on the back, just like he knew when he’d touched it that it wasn’t a replica.

He also knows, without trying it on, that it’d be a perfect fit, and would fit just the way Louis likes wearing his jerseys. Even though Harry has never seen him _wear_ jerseys, not even the Rodgers jersey hanging up in his closet, and certainly not the jersey he had for Liam.

“Wha-” Louis’ brain doesn’t get further than that single syllable. _Can’t_ get further than that single syllable. They haven’t talked for two weeks, and here Harry is, acting like it’s only been two hours since they last spoke and handing him an _actual_ Gamblers jersey.

“My first game’s on Saturday.” Harry gets out into the silence that falls after the failed syllable. “Well, the Gamblers have their home opener on Saturday, and the coach says I’ll play at least a little bit of it. And…” He fumbles a bit with his messenger bag, trying to close it again. The action makes Louis drop his gaze to the messenger bag, and manages to catch a glimpse of a couple gossip magazines inside before the flap is closed. “I feel bad that I made things awkward between us.”

“Between them?” One of the girls whispers loudly to her friends, the group clearly adding both that Harry had a game on Saturday and that he had a previous relationship with Louis to their known information about Louis’ unexpected visitor. For a student with an emphasis on performance, Louis thinks she’s got a thing or two to learn about being quieter during a scene when she’s not one of the main actors. Even if this isn’t a scene in a play.

“Did I…” Harry goes on, chewing his lip as he looks up at Louis. “Did I give you a wrong impression somewhere? Say something wrong?”

“You didn’t say anything wrong.” Louis says after a few minutes of consideration, trying to put his thoughts in order. Trying not to let himself be reminded that he’s actually _missed_ the other man while things had been awkward. He doesn’t really want an audience for this sort of conversation, but since Harry had sought him out in his classroom…. “You said things were complicated for you back home. I…” He hesitates briefly before just letting it come out lamely. “I filled in the blanks.”

“You filled in the…” Harry frowns as he repeats what Louis had said. The man glances down at the messenger bag briefly before looking back at Louis. “So you know then?”

“Yeah, I know.” Louis smiles faintly, like this is normal. That people _don’t_ encourage cheating, even if the cheater’s as attractive as Harry is. He’s not sure what Harry’s nervous tic is about, and isn't sure he wants to know. “Wasn’t hard to figure out you had a girlfriend or something back home, and that’s why you didn’t want to do anything too serious.” _‘Except with me’_ , he adds silently to himself, not about to give the gossiping girls more ammo. He’s never been shy about being gay, has always been open about it in school, but there’s a difference between being the gay ballet dancer and being the gay ballet dancer that’s helping an incredibly attractive British man cheat on their significant other back home.

“My girl-” Harry repeats Louis’ words again, or starts to, frown deepening. “But I thought you’d…” He trails off, one hand coming up, fingers spreading in the air, while he’s clearly trying to figure out what’s going on. “You thought I had a _girlfriend_ and that’s why I didn’t want anything serious?”

“Or a boyfriend.” Louis amends, but the dumbfounded look Harry gives him makes Louis wonder if maybe he jumped to the wrong conclusion altogether. “You don’t…” He finally says, feeling as confused as Harry’s starting to look.

The confusion on Harry’s wide open, handsome face finally breaks into laughter, one hand coming up to cover his mouth, the other resting protectively over his middle. “I don’t have a significant other back home. I said things are complicated because they are.” Harry’s gaze flicks over to the girls like he’s suddenly aware of them, but he seems to just as quickly dismiss them as he looks back at Louis. “My family makes having a relationship with anyone complicated. That’s all.”

“Your family?” Now Louis feels like _he’s_ the confused one, but Harry just smiles.

“Don’t worry about them. Just. I don’t have anyone waiting for me back in London.” Harry’s smile widens a bit, showing off the two teeth in front that look like bunny teeth. “Does that clear up the awkwardness between us?” The smile fades, and his hand comes up as he looks a bit worriedly at Louis. “You don’t need to say yes to what I asked two weeks ago that started this whole thing, but the main awkwardness is gone, yeah?”

Louis considers, looking at the jersey in his hand and turning over the revelation that Harry doesn’t have a relationship back in London. He’s not interfering with anything if he and Harry sleep together again. That’s good to know, at least. It does make him wonder what Harry had thought he’d figured out instead of a relationship.

“Yeah.” He finally says, nodding. “Main awkwardness is gone.”

“Good.” Harry grins wide, looking like the sun coming out after a rainy morning. “I gotta run to class, but I’ll see you later?”

Louis grins back, nodding again. “Yeah. See you at home then.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


To put it mildly, Louis’ not expecting much from Harry’s first hockey game. He’s seen the man on solid ground; all pigeon toed and clumsy, while tripping over his own feet. If he’s honest with himself, he’s expecting it to be a lot worse on a pair of thin blades, no matter how much he’s assured that Harry’s an excellent skater and an even better hockey player. He’s been reassured of both facts a number of times since Harry had told him about playing his first game, by both Harry and Liam. He’ll believe it when he sees it.

Louis and Niall make their way down to their seats, loaded up with snacks and sodas. They’re the same seats they’ve had for practically the entire time Liam’s been playing for the Gamblers: just off the side from the home team’s box and just behind the plexiglass that separates the seats from the ice. The home team themselves are busy having a last minute session as they take their seats, Niall balancing his beer on the small ledge in front of the plexiglass as he pulls his cowbell out from his sweatshirt pocket.

“You should move that before the glass gets smacked,” Louis warns ominously, taking a sip from his own beer as his gaze scans over the helmeted players. He knows Harry’s number, has it emblazoned on the jersey he’s currently wearing (that Niall somehow hasn’t noticed is new just yet), but he wonders if he’d be able to pick out the British man without it amongst all the other players. He realizes in this moment that Harry never actually told him what position he’s playing, just that the coach was going to be letting Harry play some of the game.

Even though there’s no way that any of the players can hear him over the small din that’s both the action on the ice as well as the spectators streaming in, one player comes dangerously close to the plexiglass in front of them like he means to check it before skating backwards a couple feet and saluting the two of them with his hockey stick. The player’s head had been down when he’d approached the plexiglass, but it’s definitely Harry under that helmet. Even from this distance, Louis can see the twinkle of mischief in the man’s eyes at his near “miss” and the easy grin when he catches Louis watching him.

“Point taken.” Niall grumbles, taking his beer from the ledge and replacing it with his cowbell. “Looks like you have an admirer.” He adds, looking from Harry just as the other man turns back to the jersey Louis’ wearing. “I should’ve noticed before we left home, shit.”

He balances his hot dogs in the container of deep fried cheese curds - Niall had ordered two right off the bat, as well as said order of cheese curds in addition to the beer, citing that he hadn’t eaten dinner - on his thigh and reaches over to pluck at the sleeve. “ _Shit._ ” He repeats, more amused this time. “I really should have fucking noticed this was new.”

“Don’t you ‘shit’ me, Horan.” Louis’ lip curls at his roommate, stealing a cheese curd and watching the family with a couple young kids and two teenage girls filing into the row behind them. “And watch your language.” He jerks his head toward the younger kids with meaning. “This is a family thing.”

“Is it?” Niall turns half in his seat to look at the younger kids of the family before shrugging and turning forward again. He plucks at Louis’ jersey’s sleeve again. “We need to talk about this?”

Niall hasn’t seen the back, Louis reminds himself, making a point to keep it that way, at least for now. “Harry got me a new jersey. Wanted to do something nice for me since we’d been having an awkwardness between us, and wanted to invite me to the season opener.” There, that’s a safe enough reason for a brand new jersey. Niall doesn’t need to know it’s a jersey specifically for Harry, with Harry’s last name and number on the back.

“He got you a new jersey, huh?” Niall asks, clearly not buying it. He plucks the sleeve a third time, giving Louis an unreadable look before turning his gaze to the ice and his attention to his hot dogs.

Louis feels like the conversation is both closed and put on hold for now. He pushes it out of his mind for now, deciding it’s a later problem and that he’d rather focus on the hockey game.

  
  
  
  
  
  


By the end of the first quarter, Louis’ aware of a few things.

The first thing is pretty obvious right from the start. Harry’s not only a right wing, he’s also the _starting_ right wing. Louis finds this out when the announcer introducing the starting players calls Harry’s name out just as a little video of Harry grinning for the camera plays on the center scoreboard, along with player stats such as age, birth date, and where he’s from. There’s a small flurry of whispering behind him when Harry’s announced, but he’s too absorbed in watching Harry skate out to the center line to thunderous applause and cheering.

The second is… Harry was right about his skating ability. Whatever awkwardness Harry has on his own two feet on solid ground is completely gone out on the ice. He’s a phenomenal skater, Louis realizes, and an even better, aggressive hockey player. By the time the buzzer sounds signalling the end of the first quarter, Harry’s not only scored two points for the Gamblers, he’s also been in the penalty box at least once.

The other thing Louis noticed is, well. The two teenage girls that are sitting behind Niall and him are incredibly interested in Harry whenever he’s sitting in the home team box. Liam’s been on the team for as long as he and Niall have known him, so Louis’ aware that the Gamblers players are fairly attractive young men outside of their uniforms. He’s also aware they’re pretty attractive _in_ those same uniforms. The first time Harry sits in the home team box, following his penalty time out and another player taking the ice, is also the only time he glances over their direction. Even then it’s just to grin wide at Louis, clearly pleased about having checked the other hockey player that had led to his penalty in the first place. But it’s enough to send both teenage girls into a flurry of hissing at each other. It rather reminds him of the small group of girls from his class that had acted the same way when Harry had stopped in to bring him the jersey.

It’s also making him a bit jealous, if he’s honest. Even if that honesty is only in his head. He’s certainly not about to tell Niall that he and Harry had hooked up when he was in London; he’s also hoping Harry hasn’t told Niall or Liam. He isn’t quite sure how long he can keep that a secret, but he’s been doing pretty well so far.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that it’s not until a pair of players are checked into the plexiglass right in front of him that he realizes he’s spent the entirety of the 15 minute intermission ruminating over how jealous he is of a pair of teenage girls that Harry hasn’t even glanced at once. He shakes his head, reminding himself that Harry had gone out of his way to get Louis a jersey. If nothing else, Harry thought enough of him to do that. Harry had also said that he’d wanted to hook up with Louis again, and had admitted that things were complicated for Harry back home to have a relationship. So again, there’s no need for him to be jealous of a pair of teenage girls that Harry doesn’t know and hasn’t seen, no matter how many times they glance toward Harry whenever he’s in the home team box.

With that thought, he manages to tune out the girls behind him and focus on the game. Harry checks a few players into the wall through it, one incident toward the end of the game making Louis think Harry’s going to get himself thrown out of the game altogether, but somehow, Harry makes it through the game without getting thrown out of it as well as scoring the winning goal. 

Niall nudges him as the people that stayed to the end of the thrilling game start to leave. “You wanna go see if we can sneak into the locker room?”

There’s an advantage to having a friend, now two friends, on the team: Louis and Niall have never really been stopped from going down to the Gamblers locker room. They don’t do it often, and never do it when the Gamblers aren’t playing the Resch, but enough of the regular people who work security and other behind the scenes duties know who they are and, as long as they proceed their designated route, don’t mind that they’re in areas that they probably shouldn’t be.

There’s a few players leaving the locker room and landing in the receiving arms of their parents when Louis and Niall reach their destination, so they lean against the far wall to wait. It’s not a very long wait before Liam emerges, clearly freshly showered with his duffel thrown over one shoulder.

“Hey, you two,” he greets them with a broad grin, clearly running off the adrenaline of a winning game. “Harry’ll be out shortly. Coach wanted a few words about being too hot headed in tonight’s game and hoping he doesn’t see it in a later one.”

“I’ll wait for Harry then, if you guys wanna go on ahead. Niall and I drove separately to the game, but we’ll meet up with you guys at the usual place, yeah?” Louis hopes he’s not too obvious about it, about why he wants to wait. He must not be because his roommates both nod and take off down the hallway, leaving him alone to wait for Harry by the locker room door.

He doesn’t have long to wait, though. It’s only a matter of minutes before Harry pushes through the door, freshly showered like Liam had been, and with his own duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He opens his mouth to catch Harry’s attention, but it doesn’t matter: he can tell almost instantly when Harry spots him. The other man’s face completely lights up as he closes the short distance between the two, almost backing Louis into the wall.

“You really can skate, huh?” Louis says softly, getting his first real look at a post-hockey game Harry. This close, there’s still a flush of excitement from the game coloring Harry’s cheeks, and between that and the way Harry’s teeth are pressing into his lower lip at his eagerness to see Louis are making him want to close the distance between them.

So. He does.

The second their lips touch, he forgets all about the jealousy he’d felt about the girls behind him during the game. His entire world narrows down to just him, this man in front of him and this kiss. He’d felt something similar back in London, when they’d first kissed when they’d hooked up, but there’s something… Different about this one. He can’t put his finger on it; that there’s something _more_ about this one. Maybe it’s because it’s on his home soil. Maybe it’s because it’s in a public place, and they hadn’t been quite so public last time.

Harry still kisses like he’d rather do nothing else. That’s good to know.

Louis manages, somehow, to pull away and lead the way to his car, as eager to get home as a teenager. Harry's not much better, he notices as he drives home, stealing glances only to find Harry staring back.

The car is in park and he's only briefly aware that he’d forgotten that he and Harry were supposed to be somewhere else before Harry's hands reach for Louis' jersey, throwing all other thoughts out the window.

“Inside.” Louis manages to get out, his voice husky and breathless with his need for this man. “Not out here.”

“Inside.” Harry repeats, less like he's repeating the suggestion and more like he's reminding himself to pull away for the time it takes to get inside. It's nice to know that Louis' not the only one who's feeling like a teenager, even as Harry's pulling him into the house. Harry's duffel, barely remembered as they left Louis' car, is dumped on the living room floor for future Harry to worry about as Harry backs Louis into the nearest wall.

Their mouths meet again in a clash of teeth and tongues, less elegant now in the privacy of their home and more frantic with a need to be close, a need to breathe each other's air. It's Harry's hotel room in London all over again, with less alcohol on Harry's breath but plenty on Louis'.

“Want you,” Harry hisses softly, hands coming to Louis' hips, shifting Louis' center of balance so the only things holding Louis up are Harry's body and the wall behind him. “Want you like I had you back in London.”

Louis moans, head falling back to thump against the wall behind him. Harry traces the line of Louis' neck with his tongue and teeth, biting but not biting hard enough to leave a mark. It's making Louis lose confidence in his ability to speak, to respond to Harry's request, that by the time he opens his mouth to say he wants that too, what comes out is more of a needy squeak.

But even though it's a nonsense sound, Louis knows instinctively that Harry takes it for agreement. Knows it in the way Harry's grip on Louis' hips adjusts and slides so he can pick Louis up under the ass. He'd done that back in London too, and just like in London, Louis finds it hot how effortlessly Harry can pick him up.

He thinks they'll only get as far as the couch, since he's not that light even if he is a dancer and Harry had played a full game of hockey prior, but it's with more than just mild surprise that he finds himself carried up the stairs and deposited in his own messy sheets. He's not going to complain, though, using Harry's arms to pull the other man into bed with him.

“It was closer.” Harry grunts as their bodies make contact again, fingers slipping under the jersey again. “Gonna leave this on, I think.” He adds, nosing under Louis' jaw to nip at his Adam's apple. He pulls back, one hand coming up to loosen the ties at Louis' throat, giving the jersey a little tug to expose Louis' collarbones.

“You're such a jock.” Louis groans, although he's quite fine with anything Harry wants to do so long as Harry keeps looking at him with those dark, dark eyes. “Gotta have your name on everything.”

“I'm absolutely a jock,” Harry laughs darkly, thickly, his deft fingers coming to unbutton Louis' fly and tug his jeans down to leave Louis in the jersey and his boxer briefs. He can't remember when he'd toed off his shoes. “And you're a ballet dancer, and you know what that means.”

The smirk that crosses Harry's face reminds Louis all too much of the look he'd given Louis when he'd seen Louis stretching after class. When he'd found out Louis was a ballet dancer. He'd known in London that Louis was flexible, had had plenty of fun with finding out just how flexible Louis could get. But this is different. They don't need to have just a one night stand after tonight. Harry had said that he'd be interested in more than that with Louis before.

Louis feels his face go hot at the thought, knowing from experience that once Harry finds out something interesting, he's willing to follow it to wherever it takes him. But he forces himself to swallow, to remember how to breathe, as he reaches up for Harry's own jersey. “Off, then. Jeans too.”

Harry pushes off the bed to do as ordered, nudging the door shut so they wouldn't have unexpected company in the form of Aria or their roommates, whenever they get back from their usual post-game dinner. In the small part of his brain that's still trying to function normally, Louis' grateful for that. Grateful that Harry still has the presence of mind to remember something like that. They'd certainly hadn't bothered back in London, since it had just been the two of them.

Louis’ bed isn’t quite like the bed they’d shared back in London, in that massive hotel room Harry had had. That bed had been large and plush; his is smaller and cozier, but even if his blankets are thrown about, at least they’re all clean.

He rolls on his side to reach for his nightstand to grab supplies, but just as his fingers close on the condom wrappers and the lube, he feels Harry’s hand close over his.

“I wanna.” Harry whispers hotly in Louis’ ear, pressing the long, lean line of his body to Louis’ back. He can feel the bulge of Harry’s cock against the swell of his ass as Harry’s other hand comes to rest on Louis’ stomach, fingers tucking themselves into the top of Louis’ briefs. He hadn’t noticed Harry wearing his rings after he’d come out of the locker room, but now he can feel the cold metal branding his flushed skin as Harry’s long fingers slip into his briefs to stroke him slowly. It’s rough, the way dry strokes always are, but he’s embarrassed at how quickly it makes him harder than he was.

“I wanna.” Harry repeats in Louis’ ear, his hand moving away from Louis’ cock to slide up his belly and under the jersey. It makes him squirm with need, with an urge to push back against Harry in order to get whatever he can.

“You wanna what?” Louis whispers, hearing a hitch in his voice. “Already said yes to whatever you want…”

“I wanna,” comes the answering chuckle as Harry pulls his hand away from Louis’ hot skin. If he didn’t want more, didn’t want those hands back on his skin, he’d smack him. It becomes a close possibility when Harry pulls away altogether.

His patience is rewarded, however, when Harry leans back over him again and pulls Louis’ briefs down in one smooth, well practiced move. He doesn’t remember that from London, but he was also considerably more drunk at the time.

“Dreamt about this, you know….” Harry says conversationally as he leans forward to press a kiss on Louis’ lower back, just above the swell of Louis’ ass. His tone is surprisingly neutral, like he’s talking about the weather and his lips aren’t tracing along Louis’ skin, going lower. It makes Louis shiver, his fingers curling into his messy sheets. _This_ he remembers from London, the way Harry’s voice, the way Harry’s mouth felt on his skin.

He doesn’t trust his voice this time, just rocks back against the reverent touch to his skin. He hears a throaty chuckle behind him in response, and knows that Harry’s in the best position to have a view of how Louis looks like in his need.

Harry must be in agreement with the thought because he chuckles again as he presses a kiss to one ass cheek, nipping a bit at the skin.

“Do you remember that night?” He asks, voice low and husky. Louis still doesn’t trust his voice, just licks his lips and gives a shallow nod. “You looked amazing in those tight jeans you were wearing.” There’s a pop somewhere behind Louis that he assumes is Harry opening the lube because the next thing he knows, there’s a lazy press of fingers against his entrance.

“Looked even more amazing without your clothes.” Harry continues, his voice still throaty with need, but still sounds like he’s discussing neutral topics and not one of the best nights of sex Louis’ sure he’s ever been a part of. His fingers circle Louis’ entrance, not so much insistent as just. _There_. As if he’s making sure Louis remembers the fingers are there.

Louis wants him, no, _needs_ him more than he needs air right now. But he knows that Harry’s going to draw this out until they’re both gagging for it.

He licks his lips, ready to try his voice this time. “Remember London…” His voice doesn’t quite crack in his need, but it’s a near thing. It’s better than before, which gives him the boost he needs to go on. To goad Harry into doing something, _anything_. Even if it’s just to breach him with those taunting fingers. “There wasn’t just you fingering me then…”

Harry chuckles again, his fingers moving away from where they’re toying at his entrance as the other man leans over Louis’ body. Louis can feel the hard thickness of Harry’s cock through the cotton briefs the other man’s still wearing, but Harry’s hands curl around his hips to keep him still. “No, I didn’t just finger you in London.” Harry breathes in Louis’ ear. “We did a lot, and I didn’t even know you were so flexible then.”

Louis swallows thickly, feeling his cock harden impossibly more at Harry’s breath so close to his ear. He wants to push back against the other man so badly, wants Harry to know just how badly he wants to be fucked. He turns his head toward Harry, tries in his needy haze to focus on the other man. “If you’re not…” He begins, hearing his voice crack with need, and takes a deep breath before continuing. “If you’re not gonna fuck me just yet, I need something more until you’re ready to.”

The weight over him moves away and he finds himself flipped over onto his back, Harry smirking down at him. “You need something, huh?”

Harry’s hand slides up Louis’ stomach, pushing up the jersey he’s still wearing to expose more flushed skin. Louis gives a small nod, even as Harry’s hand moves lower once more, wrapping itself around Louis’ cock. He closes his eyes at the first lazy tug, fingers curling into his sheets again. It’s not enough, he knows, his body wants _more_ from Harry than this, but he also knows from experience that Harry’s thorough when it comes to what he wants.

The hand on his cock continues to stroke him slowly, too loosely to give him the friction he needs to get off as Harry leans down over him to whisper hotly in his ear. “I’ll give you _something_.”

“What-?” Louis’ voice breaks off unexpectedly as he feels Harry move his body once more, as if he weighs nothing at all to the man, his legs going over Harry’s shoulders. There’s a brief nip at his inner thigh before he feels a wet insistence at his entrance.

“Should have you ride my face.” Harry’s voice drifts up from between Louis’s thighs just before his tongue pushes in a fraction. Louis has a flash of memory of doing exactly that in London, Harry’s long fingers curling around his dancer-thick thighs hard enough to leave bruises into the golden skin while Louis had clutched white-knuckled at the plush headboard of the bed as he’d rocked against Harry’s tongue. A sound that’s part gasp and part groan at the memory escapes Louis’ lips, the sound dragging out into a louder moan as Harry pushes his tongue further into Louis’ body.

Harry keeps a tight grip on the lower half of Louis’ body as he continues to fuck Louis with his tongue, not only keeping him from squirming away from the wet invader but from trying to push down on it as well. The best he can do is lay back and let it happen, hands reaching up for his headboard to hang on and his jersey sliding up to expose more warm skin. He can feel his cock pulse and drip precum onto his belly, feel it and sweat slide across his skin as he clings to his headboard.

Just when he thinks he’s about to come, though, Harry pulls away. Louis can’t help the whimper that slips from his lips as the sudden loss, his chest heaving from the angle his body’s being forced into. It eases slightly when Harry moves his legs from his shoulders, but Louis doesn’t get a chance to catch his breath before there’s another intruder pushing in.

The feel of it, the very _thickness_ of Harry’s cock pushing into his body takes away what little breath Louis has left. His fingers tighten on the headboard as Harry pushes in completely, Harry’s hands clutching at Louis’ thighs to keep them pressed against Harry’s sides.

“Oh god,” Louis breathes when he feels Harry’s hips still once he’s fully inside. He hasn’t been with anyone since London, since _Harry_ , and he’s forgotten what it feels like to be filled like this, to be in this position while getting fucked. Has forgotten the strain on his thighs, on his hips, when he’s held open the way Harry’s holding him open, and it makes him try to press his thighs closer into Harry’s sides to release the strain.

There’s a shift again, Harry hitching Louis’ legs up to a more comfortable position as the other man leans in to nip at the latest exposed skin of Louis’ chest. Louis hisses slightly at the pinch of teeth against his skin, not used to the sting.

“You taste as amazing as you feel…” Harry’s voice is breathless now, like the very idea of talking is too much when he’s already got the heavy lifting of fucking into Louis’ willing body. His tongue lathes at the bite, follows the trail of sweat pooling in the center of Louis’ collarbone visible with the jersey slipping under his armpits. Harry’s hips jerk, not so much pulling out as driving home the point he’s fully ensheathed inside Louis. As if he thought Louis had somehow managed to forget. As if Louis _could_ forget.

There’s another shift of Louis’ thighs against Harry’s sides, combined with Harry pulling back until he’s almost completely out. He’s not given a moment to mourn the loss however, when Harry drives back in with the same force he’d given a few of the slap shots he’d given in the game tonight. Just like the puck, Louis feels his body get shoved up the bed, barely stopped from hitting the headboard by his grip on it.

Harry manages a few more thrusts like this, forcing Louis to just take it, before he pulls out completely. Louis’ just about to whine at the loss, ask Harry why he’d pulled out, when he finds his grip taken from the headboard and flipped onto his stomach once more and Harry pushes back in. The action - abrupt, rough and fast, but exactly what he needs - makes Louis cry out.

“Couldn’t get deep enough.” Harry grunts in Louis’ ear as he leans over him, thrusting deeply into him as his long fingers wrap themselves around Louis’ wrists to keep him trapped beneath Harry’s body. A dim part of Louis’ mind wonders if he’s going to find bruises the next morning, but even as the thought emerges, a particularly deep thrust from Harry chases it away. “Want you to remember this when I’m not with you.” Harry’s grip on Louis’ wrists shift, gathering both in one large hand. Louis doesn’t view himself as a small person, didn’t think it would be possible for Harry to pull that off, but the fact he _can_ makes Louis’ cock twitch, drooling out more precum.

“Like I’m gonna…” Louis begins, about to point out that he’s not going to forget how Harry feels, especially with Harry pounding at his ass like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing, but before he gets out the rest, Harry’s free hand is back on his cock. His strokes are rough at first, more about friction than anything, but between Harry fucking into him and the hand stroking him off, it’s _enough_.

Louis comes with a low cry, half muffled into his pillow as Harry continues to thrust into him, Harry’s hand on his cock slowly. He doesn’t know how much longer it is, how many more thrusts Harry makes before Louis hears Harry’s answering groan, followed by Harry collapsing on top of him.

“God.” Louis hears after what feels like forever, but is probably in the range of only a few minutes. The weight against his back falls off a few seconds later, followed by the wet slap of the condom hitting his wastebasket, but before he properly registers that the weight is gone, he feels himself get pulled on top of Harry’s warm, sweaty body.

He feels spent and well used, with more than a bit of the body tiredness that comes from a good, solid practice. But he’s also not used to being pulled and pushed around like Harry’s doing. There’s a part of him that likes it, though.

“Would you stop moving me around?” He gripes, smiling even though there’s no heat in his words. He shifts around, eliciting pleased little sounds from the man beneath him as he moves to straddle Harry’s hips. “I’m not a living sex doll you can push around.”

“Oh, but you _could_ be.” Harry suggests playfully, grinning up at him. He looks about as worn out from the sex as Louis feels, and Louis finds that he’s pleased about that. _Good_. He loves a good fucking. Harry’s hands settle on Louis’ hips as he continues to grin broadly up at him. “I’d be okay with you being around just for sex.”

Louis’ about to answer that, when Harry continues, almost thoughtfully. “Well, I think I’d like you around for _more_ than just sex. But the sex is pretty good.” He rolls his hips up into Louis’ with a little smirk. “Everything with you is good. Easy.”

Louis snorts, rolling his eyes as Harry’s grip on his hips causes him to grind lazily against Harry’s soft cock. “Did you just call me easy?” He rocks his hips down just as Harry moves his hips again, wondering if Harry’s doing it to get a rise out of him or because he’s already ready for another go. Louis doesn’t know if he’s got another go in him just yet. “And would you cut that out when we’re talking?”

“I will not.” Harry says casually, teasingly, using his grip on Louis’ hips to do it again. “I’m quite fond of the view you present doing it.” A hand detaches itself from Louis’ hip, coming up to tug the jersey down from where it had ridden up, covering up sex sweaty skin. That done, the hand sneaks around to press two fingers to Louis’ entrance, still slick from the lube of the previous round. The action makes Louis groan, eyes sliding closed as he presses back against the fingers. He’s never thought of himself as particularly sensitive, and certainly hasn’t thought of his ass that way, after a good fucking, but maybe it’s just how Harry fucking him makes him feel.

Harry pushes a finger in past the slight resistance Louis’ entrance makes, making him moan, his head falling back. A second follows it a heartbeat later, but doesn’t do more than that. It’s almost like Harry wants to feel out his handiwork, and Louis’ reminded of Harry saying before that he wanted Louis to remember the feel of Harry inside him.

The thought is enough for Louis’ cock to take interest again.

Harry shifts, the hand that was still on Louis’ hip falling away while the fingers inside him drive a bit deeper in, even as Harry sits up. “I’d ask if you were ready for a second round but…” Harry chuckles as he drags his knuckles along the curve of Louis’ already hardening cock.

Louis flushes brightly despite himself, meeting Harry’s impish gaze. “You’re incorrigible.”

Harry shrugs, smirking a bit as his fingers slip a bit inside of Louis, faintly mimicking what the other man’s cock had done only minutes earlier. “You’re gorgeous. I’m only human.” His gaze rakes over Louis’ body, flushed skin visible where the Gamblers jersey doesn’t cover and his cock twitching in earnest now against the material. “And when you look like this….” He pulls his fingers out, hands going to Louis’ hips once more to grind his ass down on Harry’s own hardening cock. “Kinda want to bury myself in you all over again.”

Louis swallows as he feels the blunt head of Harry’s cock brush against his entrance. He’s never been one to bareback it, has always used condoms in previous encounters, but he finds himself _wanting_. And when Harry guides Louis’ hips again, causing the blunt head to brush his entrance again, Louis knows that Harry’s thinking about it too.

As if he’s aware that they’re on the same page now, Harry moves in until he’s a breath away from kissing Louis. “Wanna fuck you again…” He murmurs into the space between their lips, hips rising to meet the lazy grind he’s making Louis do.

There’s a small part of Louis’ brain that’s suggesting barebacking it might be a bad idea, that he should probably think things through before they go through with something so serious as fucking without a condom. He licks his lips, meeting Harry’s dark gaze with one of his own.

“You’re clean, right?” He asks, grinding down on Harry’s cock with no urging from Harry this time. He waits until Harry nods in answer before he reaches down for Harry’s cock, sliding himself down with remarkable ease. He briefly remembers Harry making the comment that he wouldn’t mind having Louis around for sex, and Louis finds that he’s in agreement with the idea as he rocks himself on Harry’s cock.

He doesn’t think he’s going to find any other cock that fills up him as well as Harry’s does. The thought alone makes him moan, never mind how good the cock in him is making him feel.

“You look so fucking good…” Harry’s voice breaks into his thoughts, and there’s something in the tone that makes Louis wonder if Harry’s thinking the same thing: that no one else is going to feel as good for Harry as Louis does in this moment. And then Harry continues in that same husky low tone and Louis isn’t left to wonder anymore: “No one feels as good as you do, _fuck_.”

He rolls his hips lazily, trying to adjust to Harry’s cock in this position as Harry lays back on the bed, Harry’s fingers coming back to rest on Louis’ hips. He licks his lips, watching Harry’s dark gaze rove from his face to where their bodies are joined, mostly hidden by the jersey that’s pooling now around Louis’ hips and thighs.

Then the dark gaze is back on his face, Harry’s fingers tightening into his hips with urgency. Begging Louis to move just as much as begging him to never move again off Harry’s cock. He’s good with both ideas, but he braces himself against Harry’s chest as he uses his thighs to push himself up.

He manages to get almost completely off Harry’s cock before the bruising grip on his hips pulls him back down roughly. Each time he pushes himself up, Harry’s grip is there to yank him back down onto his cock. If their earlier coupling had been hard and fast, with Harry doing all the work while Louis had been forced to take it, _this_ coupling is a battle of actions between the two of them. If their earlier coupling had been quiet other than the handful of groans and grunts between the two of them, Harry as he’d fucked into Louis’ willing body and Louis’ as the sounds were fucked out of him, _this_ coupling is loud with the slapping of Louis’ ass meeting Harry’s thighs and the moans being driven out of Louis’ lips with each upward thrust of Harry’s cock.

They fight each other like this, Louis’ thighs pushing up until Harry’s cock is just barely inside him and Harry’s tight grasp dragging him back down so he can impale himself time and again on Harry’s cock. It’s so _much_ , it’s so _good_.

Louis’ head falls back as he continues to push himself up and let Harry pull him back down, thighs burning with the strain of it all. He feels Harry move underneath him, pushing himself up even as he continues to meet Louis’ hips with his own. There’s the briefest touch of lips against the line of his neck before Louis feels his world tip and he’s hitting the mattress, Harry’s cock slipping out of him.

He’s about to complain about it, about Harry moving his body around like it weighs nothing, about pulling out before they’re both done, when Harry puts Louis’ legs over his shoulders like he’d done before when he’d been licking Louis out. Harry leans forward, bending Louis in half and putting a different strain on Louis’ thighs as Harry drives his cock back into him.

Louis moans loudly at the new angle, head falling back against the mattress as Harry starts to thrust into him again. This time, instead of reaching for the headboard or the sheets to clutch at, Louis reaches for and clings to Harry’s arms, digging his nails into the skin there.

“God.” Harry grunts as he thrusts into Louis’ body, each forward thrust pinning Louis’ legs to his chest and causing a new delicious strain on Louis’ thighs. “Could… could do this forever….”

“I’d let you…” Louis isn’t sure if his response is said out loud or just thought in Harry’s direction, but whatever happens with it doesn’t matter when Harry leans in with a particularly rough thrust, capturing Louis’ mouth with his. Just like their coupling, this kiss is harsh and rough, Harry’s tongue aggressively thrusting into Louis’ mouth, a mirroring of what other parts of Harry are doing to other parts of Louis’ body.

Something about the roughness of the kiss is just _enough_ for Louis and he’s coming again, cock splurting between them and making a mess of both Louis’ jersey and Harry’s stomach. His moan is muffled into Harry’s mouth, his fingers on Harry’s arms tightening enough to bruise Harry’s skin, a mirror to the bruises he’s already sure Harry’s left on his own skin by now, and he can feel the echo of Harry’s own orgasm explode inside him as Harry follows far more quickly this time.

They lay entwined in the afterglow this time, panting into each other’s mouths. Louis closes his eyes as he feels Harry pull out, pull away, the other man’s warmth moving away from his warm skin. He grunts a bit at the loss, reaching out in an attempt to pull him back. His efforts are rewarded with a sleepy sort of chuckle, located somewhere near his bathroom.

“You’re the incorrigible one.” Harry whispers as he returns, and there’s a warm, wet roughness against his stomach, in between his thighs. It takes him a moment to place the source - that Harry had gone to the bathroom for a washcloth to clean them both off - and he grunts again as he reaches to pull Harry back into bed. He’s rewarded with another sleepy chuckle, followed by the warm and reassuring weight of Harry settling in next to him.

He thinks he whispers a good night, but he’s not terribly sure. He is, however, sure Harry whispers one back.

  
  
  
  


There’s something very different about waking up in one’s own bed after a night of amazing sex with someone you like than waking up in a strange bed on the last day of your vacation. Louis finds he rather likes it better, actually. Harry’s soft and warm next to him, holding him close. It’s like that last night in London, all warm and languid limbs, without the nuisance of an alarm irritating him awake.

Unlike then, though, Louis doesn’t have anywhere to be now. No taxis or planes to catch. No vacations to be over. That urge he’d had back in London, months ago, where all he wanted to do was retreat back into Harry’s arms is one he can indulge now, and he does, burrowing deep into those strong arms and his warm bed. Harry seems to have no issue with this, pressing a smile into Louis’ hair even as he pulls him closer.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there, breathing each other’s air and enjoying each other’s company. It’s both intimate and comfortable, in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced with anyone else. He wonders if Harry feels the same way he does, but even if things are good between them, he doesn’t know what he’d do if Harry doesn’t.

Louis’ starting to doze off again, lulled into it by the warmth of the man next to him, when Harry’s phone goes off. The tune dances merrily around the room, but Harry’s initial response to it is a groan before he reaches over Louis to where it’s charging on the nightstand.

Harry stares at the screen for what feels like forever to Louis, not answering. The ringtone ends, the call going to voicemail.

Louis twists himself, trying to see the screen, tries to see who’d dare ruin the otherwise perfect moment they were having. Harry, however, just moves the phone away, pulling away at the same time.

“That was my mum,” Harry finally breaks the silence just as Louis opens his mouth to ask why he was being weird about it. “I need to call her back before - “ Whatever he was about to say is cut off by the phone starting to ring again. This time, Louis’ able to see “Davies - Anne” on the screen before Harry’s thumb is hitting the answer button, and Harry’s pushing himself up out of bed.

Louis settles into the warm spot Harry had left behind, watching him sleepily as the other man paces the room, quietly listening to whoever’s on the other end of the line. The conversation continues to be one sided as Harry opens the bedroom door to let Aria in, as if he’d known the feline was lurking on the other side of the door.

As if he’s an every day part of Louis’ life. As if this is going to be an everyday occurrence, waking up in bed together.

He’s just starting to picture it clearly in his mind when Harry hangs up the phone and takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to compose himself. He doesn’t come closer to the bed and Louis isn’t sure if Harry wants him to cross the room to him.

“Things okay at home?” Louis finally breaks the silence, fingers burying in Aria’s fur for the comfort. Harry startles like he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone, looking at Louis with an unreadable expression.

“Things are….” Harry trails off, looking at his phone like he’s not sure what to make of it. “Things are weird at home right now.”

Louis sits up straighter, all warmth and comfortableness draining away in the expression on Harry’s face. It’s somewhere between annoyed and upset and neither at the same time. Like Harry had gotten news that upset him just as much as it annoyed him. “If you need to go home because of a family emergency, I’m sure your professors will understand.” He starts to reach for his phone, tapping on the airline app he’d used for his own flight back in the summer. “We can pitch in on the ticket for you, so it’s one less worry for you. You just get…”

His voice trails off as Harry crosses the room, both hands covering Louis’ wrapped around his iphone and lowers them. “I’m not going home. Not yet. Don’t worry about it.”

“But you should-” Louis tries again, but Harry shakes his head.

“It’s not a family emergency.” Harry leans forward to kiss Louis’ forehead. “At least, it’s not one yet. I want to see how some things play out before I have to go home, although my mum certainly wants me on the next flight back to London.”

The statement, thrown out in a bored voice like Harry would rather do anything else more, makes Louis feel a bit cold, despite the warmth of the bed and the warmth of the smile Harry’s giving him.

“You probably should go home then, if your mom wants you home.” He says carefully, trying not to pull away from Harry as Harry settles back next to him. He doesn’t want Harry to feel the coldness he currently feels, that something’s changed between them now because things are weird at home for Harry. That they’ve done something they can’t walk back from now, although he doesn’t know why them hooking up was necessarily a bad thing. It hadn’t felt like a bad thing last time, but then, Louis hadn’t known back in London that a relationship could be awkward for Harry.

He wonders if that’s why Harry’s mom wants him to come home; that maybe they’d been spotted and someone had put two and two together and… And what, exactly? He’s been living with Harry for a couple months at this point. They’ve hooked up in the past, even if it was one time and in London. He assumes that Harry’s mom knows about the fact he’s got roommates, that he’s one of said roommates, even if Harry never told his mom about the hookup.

“I’m not going home.” Harry repeats, pulling him close. “Don’t worry about it, okay?” He playfully tugs a lock of Louis’ hair, propping himself on an elbow. “It’s Sunday, and I won the first game of the season as well as the attention of the single most handsome man in all of Green Bay.” He leans in to press a kiss to Louis’ lips, distracting him away from his thoughts. “We don’t have anywhere we need to be, after all.”

He doesn’t take much convincing after that.

  
  
  


Louis’ first inkling that something has gone horribly wrong is when he enters his first class of the day on Monday. Normally, on a Monday morning, there are singles and small groups of sleepy students mainlining caffeine in their chosen form to wake up or to nurse the hangovers from the weekend. They’re not clustered in groups of people staring eagerly at their phones and laptops, chattering wildly amongst themselves. The chattering dies almost instantly as he enters the classroom, though, every pair of eyes on him like he’s done something. He wonders briefly if they can tell he spent yesterday hooking up with the same attractive Brit multiple people on campus have tried to go out with, if there’s some sign Harry’s left on him that tells them what they had done.

But he knows there’s no love bites on his neck, nothing visible on his person. All the bruises are covered up by his clothes. He eyes the room at large, meeting the various gazes levelly before settling in his usual seat, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt (really, it’s Harry’s sweatshirt, and Harry had insisted) up and pulling his laptop out, ready for class. He has no idea what’s going on, why people are staring at him, but what he is going to do is push it out of his mind altogether.

  
  
  


The feeling that something is off continues to follow him through his next class, coupled with sidelong glances from classmates he’s never spoken to beyond classwork and simple greetings. It stops as soon as the professor starts speaking, but it starts up again once class is over a couple hours later.

Usually, after his second class on Monday, Louis makes a pit stop at the cafeteria for a sandwich or something before he ducks into a practice room to work on routines or something for his dance classes. But with the weirdness of the day, the strangeness of his classmates, Louis opts for driving the short distance to Target and then home. He’ll hate himself later for not practicing, but he can’t stand the sidelong looks he keeps getting. Hell, he thinks the looks are more annoying than the whispering, and he’s beginning to find the whispering getting on his nerves.

He grabs a pre-packaged sandwich from the produce section, along with a small container of soup. He brings both up to the front, where the registers are. As he approaches them, however, he catches a glimpse of the magazines on offer with the rest of the impulse buys. He knows, from the experience of being an older brother to multiple younger sisters, that most of these magazines are gossip rags and are mostly designed to make you believe whatever a celebrity’s PR team wants you to believe or just to sell nonsense. He’s never given them much thought when he passes them while shopping.

What he’s not expecting, however, is seeing an entire column of magazines with multiple different pictures of Harry, of all people, on the different covers. He absently puts his sandwich and soup on the conveyor belt to be rung up, reaching for one of the magazines without bothering to read the name of it. For a brief moment, a brief heartbeat, Louis thinks that maybe he was wrong, that the person on all these covers just has a passing likeness to Harry.

That is quickly shattered as he reads the headline emblazoned on the bottom of the magazine cover. “Playboy Prince Spotted!” It proclaims in big bold letters across a picture of Harry, in the ripped up jeans and Packers jersey Louis knows very well, walking across what Louis knows is the UWGB Campus. In smaller words underneath the headline, Louis is told that Prince Harry has been living in Wisconsin for some time and has picked up hockey as a hobby. A quick glance at the other magazines on offer shows that the other magazines have similar stories to tell inside their pages, and even though Louis has never in his life bought a gossip magazine, he finds himself grabbing a copy of each magazine to be had in the column with Harry’s face on them, adding them to his sandwich and soup. After a pause, he grabs a soda out of the mini fridge next to the magazines.

He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as the cashier finishes up with the customer in front of him, the woman smiling at him as she starts to ring up his things.

“Hi,” She says in a chirpy sort of voice, warm and friendly in that Target way. Her eyes drop to the magazines and the smile gets even bigger. “Royal fan, huh? Can’t believe we’ve got a real life royal living in our neck of the woods.”

“My sisters are obsessed.” Louis white lies, trying to smile. He thinks the smile isn’t really a good one, feels like it’s too big, too awkward on his face. Feels like the cashier can tell he’s lying. He doesn’t know if it’s entirely a lie; he’s never really discussed with his sisters if they’re fans of British royals or celebrity royalty or whatever. He just knows they like gossip magazines.

Suddenly, Harry’s shifty comments about his family, about having a relationship with someone being too complicated makes sense. Of course. Being a royal prince would make it complicated to be in a relationship, especially if that relationship was with another guy. He’s also painfully aware now of why all his classmates had been looking at him funny all day: it wasn’t really him they were looking at so much as they knew that he was friends with Harry.

He grabs the bag as soon as he’s paid for his things, and somehow manages to not bolt to his car.

He also manages, barely, to not speed the whole way back to his house.

Harry’s car is in the driveway when Louis pulls in, and Louis finds himself staring at it as he shifts his own car into park. It’s a simple car, really, a little 4-door red Honda Accord hybrid. It’s not really that flashy, all things considered. It blends in well with the SUV Liam drives, the hatchback Niall drives and the sedan Louis drives, although neither the SUV or the hatchback is home because Niall has his job on Mondays and Liam’s in class. Just the sort of car a college kid with a basic job and student loans would drive. The parking lots at UWGB are full of similar cars.

It looks nothing like what someone with a lot of money like a British royal would drive. It’s too small, it’s not as flashy. It’s too normal. It’s as normal and practical as Harry is.

The magazines are lying. They’ve got to be. Louis keeps repeating that to himself as he climbs out of his car, grabbing both his bookbag and the Target bag. Harry’s not really a prince. He did not hook up with a prince.

Harry’s studying on the couch as he enters the house, law books scattered across the coffee table while Harry is intently staring at brightly colored notecards in his hands. He’s gnawing on a thumbnail as Louis takes the scene in front of him, from the law books on the coffee table to the languid white fluffy cat on the back of the couch with one paw stretched to touch Harry’s thick brown hair. There’s even a mug embellished with a Himalayan wearing a winter hat balancing on a small stack of notebooks. As he watches, as he stares really, Harry shifts position, bare legs coming up onto the couch while he intently studies the information on the card he’s reading. Louis knows that Harry doesn’t have class on Mondays, that he usually uses the day to go over whatever he’d learned the previous week and takes advantage of the otherwise quiet house to sit half naked on the couch and listen to instrumental music while he studies. Louis can see the white of the airpods in the curve of Harry’s ear, even from here, and knows that the music is one of the two reasons Harry hasn’t noticed his presence just yet.

Harry looks nothing like any royal Louis’ ever seen pictures of at this moment. He looks like just any other college kid Louis’ seen studying. He can’t possibly be a prince.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing in the doorway, just staring at Harry before his presence is noticed. Harry blinks, pulling an airpod out as he straightens up, setting the notecards next to the mug.

“I wasn’t expecting you home so early.” Harry smiles warmly at Louis as he gets to his feet, crossing the room to him. Louis’ gaze drops to the Gamblers jersey Harry’s wearing as he approaches, knowing it’s the one Harry plays in. He can see a hint of the black boxer briefs the other man’s wearing under it. Thinks about what had happened yesterday, what had happened Saturday night, what had happened back in London. Considers the possibility of being persuaded away from the trainwreck his thoughts are derailing in favor of pulling Harry up to his room and letting Harry tell him with his mouth, tongue and hands that the magazines are lying.

Louis looks up at Harry again after what feels like a lifetime, still saying nothing as he tries to tell himself the magazines are lying, because no prince, playboy or otherwise, sits around the house they share with three other men in sports jerseys and their underwear. Tries to tell himself playboy princes have notches on their bedposts of their conquests, that they have multiple partners ready to go at any time. That Harry is anything other than a prince, and a playboy at that.

But the weird comments about his family. The fact Louis had jumped to a conclusion that Harry had had a girlfriend back home and that was why he couldn’t hook up with anyone, couldn’t have a relationship with anyone. The whispers that seemed to follow Harry that didn’t seem to just be because he was an attractive man. That giant hotel room they’d stayed in Louis’ last night in London, the one he’d considered himself a lucky bastard for getting to stay in.

Harry notices Louis’ silence, sees the pained look that’s starting to cross Louis’ face, and the smile drops from his own. “Is everything okay there, Lou?” His voice is careful, considerate. Like if he spoke louder, reached a hand out to touch Louis in this instant, he’s convinced Louis would break into a hundred thousand pieces. Maybe he would.

Louis’ mouth opens to say something, say anything really although he doesn’t know what. What finally comes out is, “Is it true?”  
  


“Is what true?” Harry’s voice is full of confusion, and a small line starts to form between Harry’s eyebrows. Louis knows that line, knows it only appears when Harry doesn’t know what’s going on.

Louis finds he has no voice to answer the question, so with fingers that feel like they’re going numb with the knowledge that maybe the magazines weren’t lying, he pulls the magazines out of his bag and holds them out to Harry. He sees them tremble a bit in the space between them, knows it’s his hand starting to shake as shock settles in, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice as he stares down at the cover of the topmost magazine.

They stand there in silence only broken by the sound of Louis’ heart beating in his ears. He doesn’t know how long they stand there, not saying anything, before Harry finally speaks.

“I see now why my mum called yesterday.” Harry doesn’t offer anything else, doesn’t take the magazines from Louis. He doesn’t move back to his studying, but it still leaves Louis feeling cold, like he’s been dismissed.

“Is it true then?” Louis whispers, meeting Harry’s gaze. “That you’re a prince?”

Harry’s gaze drops first, to the floor and then to the far wall. “I am.” His gaze finally comes back to Louis. “This was a mistake.” He doesn’t clarify what the mistake was, doesn’t say anything else as he turns to collect his things and heads upstairs with them. The sound of Harry’s bedroom door closing sounds so final to Louis that he finds himself walking on automatic to the kitchen to put the sandwich and soup he’s no longer hungry for in the fridge before running upstairs to throw himself on his bed.

An hour later, he hears the front door open and close. He doesn’t move from his bed, not even when he hears the front door open and close a second time with the same finalty that Harry’s bedroom door had. It’s only then that he starts to cry, although he’s not even sure why.

  
  
  


A week later, multiple magazines have Harry’s face on the cover and imply he might have found love in Wisconsin. The story that accompanies the main covers includes a picture of Louis and Harry kissing in the hallway just across from the Gamblers locker room.

It makes Louis feel worse than he already does, and it’s a painful reminder that Harry wasn’t truthful to him. It’s also a reminder that Harry left to go back to London. There’s no love story here; Prince Harry of London did not find love in Wisconsin.

At least, that’s what Louis keeps trying to tell himself.

Louis tells his professors he’s not feeling well. It’s not marginally untrue; he spends the rest of the week numb, with occasional crying jags. He’s not up to going to class, nevermind studying or even practicing. He remembers the gossiping girls from when Harry had shown up with the jersey and their reaction. Remembers the nervous tic Harry had had at the time, and wonders if maybe magazines had already started hinting toward this before he’d noticed.

Liam and Niall don’t say anything to him, except to ask if he’s doing okay whenever they make sure he’s still alive in the mess of his room and his life and bring him food. He doesn’t even know what they knew about the whole situation. He doesn’t know what Harry told them when he left unexpectedly. The only saving graces are they don’t bring his mom into the situation and they keep making sure Aria can get into his room.

After a week and a half of feeling sorry for himself, he pulls himself together enough that he goes back to his life before Harry came into it. His body protests when he starts dancing again, but he pushes through it. He ignores the sideways glances that his classmates give him when he starts going back to class, ignores the gossiping that follows him from class to the dance studio.

The news about Harry being a real life prince has been around for about three weeks when Louis finally turns up for a shift at his job at the campus bookstore. He knows that his manager isn’t too happy with him for blowing off work for that time, even with the excuse he’d given about being too sick to work or go to class, but one look at him makes the older woman sigh to herself and puts him on the register. At some point, probably half an hour or so after he’s positioned himself on a stool behind the register, one of his coworkers leaves a package of Reese's peanut butter cups and a bottle of Pepsi by his elbow.

The gesture makes him wonder if he really does look as pitiful on the outside as he feels on the inside. But he gives the young woman a half smile and thanks her for it. It’s the least he can do.

As the semester is already half over and the only things to look forward to are Thanksgiving and winter breaks (and exams, but no one really looks forward to those), he’s not expecting many customers in the store. He knows from previous years that, when he does get a customer, it’ll be a student who needs a new notebook or some other school supply and doesn’t want to drive over to Festival or Target.

So he’s a bit surprised when a customer approaches the register with more than just a couple notebooks and a package of pens. Resting on the very top of her stack, just under a bag of peanut M&Ms, is one of the very gossip magazines Louis’ been trying to avoid since the story about how Prince Harry _might_ have found love in Wisconsin. He doesn’t have the visceral reaction to the picture of Harry on the cover that he’s been having since the story broke; he doesn’t feel like running away from it.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” The young woman asks, her voice a bit suspicious, like she’s trying to figure out how she knows Louis. Where she’s seen him before. He doesn’t know her personally, but he’s seen her fluttering around Harry like a moth drawn to a flame. He doesn’t answer her, doesn’t even really know what she’s asking, so he settles for reaching for her items to ring them up. But the minute his fingers touch the magazine, her hand drops down on the small stack.

“You _are_.” This time, her voice is accusatory, like he’s lied to her without saying a single word. It makes him pause, staring at her like she’s grown a second head.

“I really don’t know who you are,” He finally says once he’s found his voice again. He sounds a lot like he did before Harry lied to him about who he was, before Harry broke his heart. Good. Between this and the non-reaction to Harry’s face on a magazine cover, he just might be able to get past this. Maybe. Possibly. “And I don’t know who you think _I_ am. I’m just a Phoenix like you are.” His gaze drops to the UW-GB logo with its stylized phoenix on her hoodie, in the event she doesn’t know what kind of phoenix he means.

To be honest, being reminded of the university’s mascot makes him want to laugh. The sheer irony that he’s going to have to rise from the ashes of his own broken heart.

“Can I just-” He adds, pointing to her items, trying to get back on track. Shake thoughts of Harry out of his head, thoughts of what Harry had done out.

The young woman rolls her eyes so hard, he’s surprised they don’t pop out of her head, and shakes her head curtly, snatching up her magazine and opening it up before turning it back to him. “That’s you, right?”

He’s read exactly none of the stories about Harry. He didn’t open any of the magazines he’d bought when he’d confronted Harry three weeks ago. He didn’t google Harry. He didn’t do _anything_ that had to do with Harry after he’d left. He’s only seen the covers of various magazines, skimmed over the cover story headlines. Maybe he should’ve opened at least one of them because the story he’s being shown isn’t about Harry.

It’s about _him_.

He reaches for the magazine, practically snatches it from the student’s hand. She doesn’t seem to mind the action, opting instead to open the bag of M&Ms she’d brought up to the counter while he skims over the article.

The first picture that accompanies the article is a candid shot of him stretching in one of the dance practice rooms. In fact, as he quickly flips through the article, all the photos in the article are candids and he doesn’t remember anyone taking them. He flips back to the beginning of the article again, and skims the short blurb at the very top. The article and accompanying photographs seem to have come from….

He curses quietly to himself. He knew Niall had connections everywhere, but seeing Niall’s name in a magazine published _nationally_ feels…. _Huge_ . Even if it’s an article about him that he doesn’t remember being asked if he was okay about. Even if the article’s something he probably would’ve been okay with _because_ it was Niall writing it, had he known.

“I can get another one if you want your own copy.”

Louis’ been so focused on the article, specifically on Niall’s name in the fucking byline, that he’s forgotten that he’s holding a customer’s copy. His gaze travels from the article to the young woman’s face, but before he can open his mouth to apologize, she turns and goes to grab a second copy of the magazine.

“You can have that one.” She says, the tone in her voice gracious this time as she sets the second copy of the magazine on her stack of things. He wonders if it’s because she’s finally figured out how she knows him, that he’s tied to Prince Harry. “So what’s he like?”

Louis lowers the magazine in his hand, setting it to one side as he eyes her skeptically. When the reach toward her stack of items isn’t deterred this time, he pulls it closer and starts to ring up her items. “Who? Niall?”

His question is rewarded with another epic eye roll. “No. The _prince_.”

Louis doesn’t want to talk about Harry. He doesn’t want to talk about Harry ever again. Doesn’t want to think about him ever, either. But he finds himself doing both anyway. “He’s great. He’s got a warm heart, knows how to make you feel like you’re the only person in the world when he’s talking to you.” He smiles despite himself. He might be mad at what Harry did, but Harry’s just…. Hard to be mad at, it seems. “Wicked skater, too. Best Gambler player I’ve seen in awhile, and I live with another Gambler player.”

The young woman watches him as he talks, offering up the now empty wrapper of peanut M&Ms so he can scan it when he’s gotten everything else. “Are the rumors true then?”

“Are the-” Louis starts to repeat, the words crashing down in his head with realization of just _which_ rumors she means. The innocent question ruins any good, charitable feeling he was feeling toward Harry. He frowns down at the magazine cover, with Harry’s face on it, as he grabs a bag to put the student’s items in. Are the rumors true then, indeed. They must not be, because Harry fucked off to England and called them, called their burgeoning relationship, a mistake. But he can’t say any of that, even if he’s sorely tempted.

“The rumors aren’t true,” is what he finally settles on, handing her the bag. Her gaze drifts toward the magazine article about him that’s still lying open on the counter where he left it, the question left unsaid but loud between them.

_‘If the rumors aren’t true, that Prince Harry Styles from London fell in love with a commoner from the States, why would a national magazine publish an article written about a relative unknown dancer from Green Bay?’_

“Besides,” Louis tears off her receipt when it prints with more force than he means to, mentally shaking off the unspoken question as he offers her the slip of paper. “Harry went back to London three weeks ago.” He knows he should probably use Harry’s title, but he’s never had to call Harry Prince. He doesn’t feel inclined to start now if he doesn’t have to. “If the rumors were true, he wouldn’t have left.”

The expression the young woman gives him is unreadable as she takes the receipt. “I don’t know,” She finally says after a few minutes of silence, her gaze drifting back to the magazine on the counter, still open to the article about Louis. “It’s a pretty great fairytale for the modern era.” Her gaze moves from the candid photograph of Louis stretching to Louis’ face. “And stranger things have happened.”

She stands there for another moment, watching his face like she’s expecting something else out of him. Some other reaction than what he’s already given her. Whatever that other reaction is, he doesn’t know. She must not know what else that expectation is out from him because she soon leaves, with a final backward glance toward him as she opens the door to leave the store.

He watches her go, trying to process what just happened. He’s certainly never been confronted before, about anything. He’s also never had articles written about him in nationally published magazines. He’s been mentioned in reviews for the plays and other performances he’s done through the university, but those reviews are in the local papers and on the websites of the local news stations. The furthest he’s ever gotten a review was from a Milwaukee newspaper.

Louis picks up the magazine again, closing it to look at the cover photo of Harry once more. It’s a pretty good picture of the man, not that Harry would ever really take a bad photo. As he studies the photograph, he wonders where and when it was taken. It doesn’t look like it was taken in Wisconsin, although Harry’s certainly wearing a Gamblers jersey and jeans, one hand buried in his hair in that casual way he always did.

As much as he’s mad at Harry, for lying about who he was, for omitting things Louis feels like he had a right to know, especially if they were going to be involved, looking at the photograph on the cover of the magazine just makes Louis miss him as much, if not more.

He shakes himself and forces himself to bury those feelings - the hurt he’s been feeling, the pain he feels at the loss of Harry being gone - behind the anger that Harry wasn’t truthful with him. Maybe Harry had a good reason to not say anything when they’d hooked up in London, but whatever reason went out the window when Harry came to Wisconsin to live with them. To go to Louis’ fucking university. To sweep into Louis’ fucking  _ life _ the way he did.

Louis flips open to the article about himself once more, staring at Niall’s name in the byline. He wonders what Niall was thinking, writing an article about him. Hell, he wonders when Niall  _ wrote  _ the article in the first place, never mind when he took and collected the pictures that accompany it.

As for the article itself, it’s… pretty inconspicuous. Harmless and fluffy, really. If it wasn’t about him specifically, he’d be able to come to the conclusion that the magazine is drawing the public’s eye to someone that should be noticed, an up and coming dancer who’s going to be big. There is some mention of his relationship with Harry halfway through the article, accompanied by a photograph that had been taken in their living room. It’s from the Sunday after they’d hooked up for the second time when they’d come out of Louis’ room to avoid suspicion; they’re not even looking at each other - Harry’s focused on a large textbook propped up on their coffee table while he rubs a knot out of Louis’ calf while Louis’ attention is focused elsewhere, Aria stretched out on the arm of the couch next to Harry - but the view from the outside makes the moment look far more domestic, far more intimate than the photograph of the two of them kissing in the hallway in front of the Gamblers’ locker room.

They look like a proper couple, free of any of the awkwardness of a new relationship. LIke they’ve been together months and not just a couple of hookups and the newness that accompanies a change from friends to something more. Is this what others saw before anything happened between them?

Was this, then, something Niall and Liam had both seen, while he and Harry had tried to hide their previous encounter? Had they said nothing, expecting Harry and Louis to come clean about what had happened between them? That he’d met Harry, albeit with a different name, and hooked up with him while he was in London, before Harry had become their roommate?

He has so many questions for his roommates, he doesn’t even know where to begin. He doesn’t even know if he wants to start asking questions, find out what his roommates had known and when. He does know, at least, that as of a few weeks ago, Liam  _ didn’t _ know. He wouldn’t have been discussing Harry hooking up with people if he’d known that Louis and Harry had a connection like that. At least, he’s mostly sure Liam wouldn’t have. Liam’s not that kind of person.

To be honest, Liam’s the sort of person that would be all for the epic sort of love story that, had things been different, this could’ve played out as: the handsome prince falling in love with a commoner and the pair of them riding off into the sunset.  


The thought makes Louis snarl to himself and quickly close the magazine. He'll have a talk with Niall later, figure out just what the hell Niall was thinking writing an article for a gossip magazine about him and make him out to be Prince Harry's true love.

  
  
  


Louis doesn’t want to go to a Gamblers game. He hasn’t been to a game since Harry left to go back to England nearly a month and a half prior. Since Harry left to go back to being a fucking prince, of all things. But Niall’s insistent and someone - he’s not sure who, but he’s banking on Niall because it sounds like him, especially if he’s still trying to make up for the magazine article - had sent them tickets that include the Ice Box. He’s seen the Ice Box, sure. Has walked past it multiple times heading off to the locker rooms to meet up with Liam (and that one time with Harry). But he’s never actually been part of a gathering there.

The invitation says that food and all the beer they want is free, so. Why not? It’s not the Gamblers’ fault Harry’s a fucking prince. He can lose himself in the game, in whatever food they’re serving at the Ice Box, and in the beer. He’s allowed to feel sorry for himself.

“A fucking prince.” Louis snaps out loud, just as he and Niall are sitting down at one of the small tables in front of the plexiglass at the Resch. They’re otherwise alone in the Ice Box, which is pretty much unheard of. It’s usually reserved for large groups of people, and has its own private bathroom as well as it’s own private bar. And it’s just off the area that the Gamblers walk onto the ice. “He had to be a fucking prince.”

“Bitter much?” Niall intones dryly, but with no real heat behind it. Niall knows how Louis feels about the whole thing. Louis wonders if Niall had known all along. Wonders if Niall had known that Harry was a prince, wonders if Niall had actually known he and Harry had hooked up before those pictures had appeared on nearly every gossip magazine imaginable. He even wonders, although only for the briefest of moments, if Niall had been the one that had tipped off all those gossip hounds even as he was writing his own article for publishing.

Wonders how he’s supposed to move on now. Is there some sort of therapy group for people who’ve hooked up with royalty? He’d text Harry to ask, even though he hasn’t spoken to the other man since. Well. Since he left. Harry hasn’t even said anything to him.

He remembers Harry saying things were too complicated for him to have a real relationship, but. He doesn’t think that being a prince is that complicated.

Oh, who is he kidding? He can absolutely see how being a prince is complicated. You never know if the person you’re with is with you for you or for your title.

“No wonder he couldn’t remember me at first, and why he gave me his middle name in the first place.” Louis mumbles, more to himself, but it makes Niall turn an impassive blue gaze from the game that’s gone on without Louis’ attention to him. Niall doesn’t say anything, of course, but he doesn’t have to. The implication is clear: they’re at a Gamblers game in some of the best seats in the house, barring the boxes, and he’s moping over some guy instead of enjoying himself.

He manages to enjoy the rest of the period, although the score’s still tied at 0-0 by the time the buzzer goes off.

“They’ll make a comeback in the next period.” Niall says as they get up to get another beer and some cheese curds from the catered bar in the Ice Box. “Sucks that Harry’s gone, though. He was a pretty good scorer.”

“We’re not talking about Harry.” Louis points out. He’s about to add more when the announcer begins to thank various groups for coming to the game, their names up on the center board. They know from previous experience that because they’re in the Ice Box, their party’s going to be amongst the groups thanked for coming, even if they don’t know who had originally sent the invites.

But when it comes time for their names to appear, the announcer says that a very special party is being had in the Ice Box for a very special person. Louis frowns at Niall as the spotlight and camera swoop their way.

“You don’t know anything about this, do you?” He asks, suddenly aware that there’s a group of people coming from the hallway into the Ice Box. In the lead is Liam, clearly still in pads under his uniform although he’s temporarily replaced his skates with sneakers, and Ace, the Gamblers mascot.

Niall shrugs just as the announcer tells the crowd that, “It would seem that someone very close to Louis Tomlinson, celebrating in the Ice Box tonight, has an apology.”

“I know as much as you do.” Niall says, but there’s something in the way he says it with a glance toward Liam that has Louis starting to doubt that Niall is as much in the dark about what’s going on as he’s claiming.

Louis can hear the announcer saying something, probably relaying whatever apology someone has to make to Louis, but Louis’ attention is caught and held by the actions of Ace. He’s seen the mascot before, has watched Ace mime along to whatever’s going on in the mascot’s vicinity. But there’s something different in Ace’s movements this time around, almost like the person wearing the costume isn’t used to it.

He watches as Ace mimes first crying, paws covering the bobcat’s face as the shoulders shake in imaginary tears, followed by the mascot pressing both paws to his chest and getting down on one knee, arms outstretched to Louis imploringly.

“What’s going on?” Louis asks, looking from Liam and the other escorts to Niall and then back to Ace. He was too busy watching Ace to listen to the announcer, but he’s aware now of the fact that the audience, that all of the Resch Center, is looking at him expectantly. He knows, without looking, that everyone can see him staring at Ace, big and center on the screen in the middle of the arena, and he hopes that the camera doesn’t show his absolute confusion.

And then Ace does what mascots usually don’t when they’re out in public: he takes off his head. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, doesn’t know who to expect, has no expectations whatsoever really, but for some reason, he’s shocked that it’s Harry, of all people, in the mascot suit.

He watches, dumbfounded, as Harry tucks the large bobcat head into the crook of his arm, still looking up at him.

“Will you forgive me?” Harry asks, the only sound that breaks through the hush that seems to be Louis’ hearing. His green eyes stare into Louis’ for a few moments before he stands back up, clearing his throat. “You don’t have to answer that right away. But….”

Whatever Harry wants to add to that sentence, Louis doesn’t hear because even though it’s been three weeks since he’s seen Harry, three weeks since Harry walked out and Louis’ life turned upside down, even though Louis had been irritated with Harry half an hour ago, he throws his arms around Harry’s neck and kisses him deeply. He doesn’t care what happens, isn’t even aware of the world outside his body as Harry’s arms move to wrap around his waist.

“I missed you,” Harry whispers in his ear, holding him close. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay.” Louis whispers back, squeezing him tightly before letting go. “Preferably without that ridiculous mascot outfit.”

Harry looks down, barking out a laugh. “Yeah, preferably without.” He leans in, hesitating a moment before brushing a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “After the game.”

  
  


Harry takes to the ice to thunderous applause at the start of the second period, and this time, Louis wonders how much of it is because they remember how well he did the first couple games he’d played with the Gamblers and how much it’s because he’s a member of the royal family. He remembers the first time Harry had played and the gossiping teenage girls behind him, wonders if that had been because of who Harry had been more than how he looked.

Maybe he’s been overthinking how the pictures had gotten out there in the first place. He’s never really followed the royal family of any country, nevermind the UK, so he can’t be blamed that he didn’t know. At least, that’s what he’s going to tell himself.

All of that is, of course, quickly forgotten in favor of enjoying the rest of the game. Like all previous outings with the Gamblers, Harry leads the team to victory, getting two of the five goals they win the game with, including the game-winning one. He takes his lap around the rink to the cheers of the fans, pulling to a stop by the Ice Box to grin at Louis. Louis remembers, vaguely, that they do need to talk, but he can’t stop the grin that splits his face.

He feels Niall lean over to whisper, “The house’ll be free tonight, then.” and blushes despite himself. He’d like to think that nothing would happen besides talking, but he’s glad to know that Niall and Liam will make themselves vacant for whatever comes of it.

The crowd's pretty much cleared out of the arena by the time Harry appears from the locker rooms, freshly showered with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looks like he does after every other Gamblers game that Louis almost forgets that Harry's been gone for three weeks. That Harry disappeared back to London for the last three weeks. That things have been so uncomfortable the last three weeks for Louis.

“I owe you an apology.” Harry says in that slow way of his, watching Louis almost nervously. Like he's surprised to see that Louis had stuck around to wait for him. “But...” His gaze moves from Louis' face to their surroundings. “Maybe not so publicly? I've had enough of it for the time being.”

Louis nods, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Niall says the house...” His voice gives out, revealing his own nervousness now that things are looking like they might be cleared up. “That we can go there to be alone.” As he says it, he remembers that Harry's a prince and he's probably got bodyguards or other staff, even though Harry had never had them around before.

“I'd like that.” Harry smiles. “And don't worry. It'd just be us.”

He echoes the smile, relieved that Harry had guessed what was on his mind. He leads the way to his car, wondering how Harry had gotten to the Resch earlier. There aren't many cars left in the parking lot as they approach his vehicle. As his thumb moves over the unlock button on his key fob, he tries to think of how to fill the silence between them. He's not uncomfortable with it; it's the same sort of comfortable silence they've had between them once he'd initially gotten over his shock at finding out his hookup was going to be their new roommate only a few months ago. He wonders if Harry feels the same, is comforted by the fact they fell so easily back into old habits.

The drive home stays quiet, continuing with the comfortable silence between them. He wants to ask Harry how he's been, ask why he disappeared when Louis had found out he was a prince. Why he left Louis so confused. Why did he call them a mistake? But he's scared of breaking the silence. Scared that if he does, they'll be incapable of going back to this comfortable silence ever again.

The silence follows them into the house but it breaks when Harry sets his duffel bag on the living room floor and turns to Louis. “I owe you an apology.” He says again, rubbing his hands together like he has no idea what else to do with them. It makes Louis realize that Harry's just as nervous about this as he is, just as uncomfortable with the distance between them as Louis is. Harry fumbles a bit, clearly trying to put what he wants to say in order before he settles for taking Louis by the hand and pulling him to the couch. They disturb Aria, who quietly grumbles as she resettles herself on the back of the couch, tucking her tail over her face to block them out.

Harry chuckles softly, reaching out to stroke her a moment before turning back to Louis. “I'm a prince, which I told you about.” He pauses briefly, clearing his throat. “Not right away, though. My grandmother is currently on the throne, and I'm just cooling my heels until she's ready to... do whatever it is she wants to do. Step down, or die.” He shakes his head, running a multi-ringed hand through brown hair that's a few inches longer than Louis had remembered. It gives him more of a rock star look than a royal one. “So I've been pretty much doing whatever I pleased, within reason.”

“Like me?” Louis' voice is small as he says it, and the sound of it makes him flinch. It also makes Harry's head snap up to look at him in surprise.

“No.” Harry says simply, shaking his head. “You weren't... You were never in the equation of 'fun'.” He puts air quotes around the word 'fun'. “Not even when we met at that bar and hooked up your last night in London. I wanted to be someone who wasn't a prince, and I was already considering going to school in the US, and....” He trails off, licking his lips as he looks up at the ceiling, clearly trying to gather his thoughts again. “I met you. And I didn't realize you knew Niall, who I was already talking to about someplace to stay. So seeing you again here,” he nods to the living room at large. “Was a surprise. A great surprise, really.”

Harry's hands spread out as he talks, reaching for Louis' hands after a few minutes. “You didn't know I was a prince, or at least, you didn't act like you knew. It was a welcome change of pace, believe me.” His thumb rubs across Louis' knuckles, and his gaze drops to their hands. “It was.... Things have always been complicated for me. I never knew if people liked me for me, or because they liked what I meant for their life, their personal goals. So, getting to be me around you was amazing.”

His gaze lifts to Louis' once more. “When I said this was a mistake, I didn't mean that you were the mistake. I... thought I could be just Harry, without having to have bodyguards or someone constantly on my case. There were still magazines, still articles about me floating around, wondering where I'd gotten. Wondering if I'd finally ended up in some rehab somewhere, even though I've never had a drug problem.” He squeezes Louis' hands, and Louis doesn't know if Harry's trying to reassure himself or Louis. He's willing to be reassured, now that he's getting answers to questions he's had for three weeks. “You have no idea how freeing it was to be able to just.... be myself, with you, with the hockey and with school.”

Harry snorts, chuckling a bit. “Okay, maybe making a name for myself in hockey was a bit stupid, even if it was a minor league. Still got people's attention, didn't it?”

“It did.” Louis whispers, remembering the teenage girls whispering. Remembers the jealousy he'd felt, although he manages to tamp it down. Remembers everything Harry had said about complications and how he'd jumped to the conclusion that Harry had had a girlfriend back home, not that he was a prince. “Although I think you were still spotted.”

“Guess I was.” Harry smiles ruefully up at him. “But not to you. I was never Prince Harry to you, was I?” One hand starts to reach for Louis' face, pauses briefly before cupping his cheek. “I was just Harry to you, right?”

“You were always just Harry to me.” Louis whispers, and although he'd been mad that Harry had hid who he really was from Louis, made Louis feel like he doubted everything they'd done, he realizes it's true. He might not have known Harry was royalty, but he feels like if he had known, it wouldn't have made any difference. All this man in front of him has ever been is just Harry to Louis. “Were you ever planning on telling me? That you were, y'know, a prince?”

Harry's nose crinkles fondly. “Nah. I did say things were complicated with my family and that it made having a relationship complicated, but if things ever got really serious, I think I'd wait until you were good and settled before springing it on you.”

Louis can't help it; he laughs at the thought, even as he reaches out to smack Harry for having it. “You wouldn't have dared.”

The smile that Harry gives him is warm, warmer than anything he's ever seen, and it erases whatever was left from Harry's leaving. “You're absolutely right. I would've made sure you knew you were gonna be a duke if things got serious.”

Louis leans in, all hesitation gone as he presses his lips against Harry's. “Good.”

Harry returns the kiss, slowly and surely like every other kiss. “Is this the part where we live happily ever after then?”

Louis considers for a moment before getting to his feet, holding his hand out to Harry. He doesn't say it in words, exactly, but he definitely shows Harry that this is definitely the part where they live happily ever after.

It’s funny how fast time flies when you’re busy having your happily ever after. Things with Harry had unravelled back in October, but had gotten better by November with its cold rains and glimpses of snow. Winter and spring had brought changes as well: by December, Harry had made their relationship public and official, and by the time it warmed up in late April, Harry had already been talking about taking another step in their relationship. They were already living together, never moving out of the house they shared with Liam and Niall and Aria, but Harry’s been thinking about getting a place for just the two of them, plus Aria. He hasn’t pushed Louis, though; he knows that Louis enjoys living with two of his best friends and his boyfriend.

Now that it’s approaching June, and a couple months shy of them knowing each other for a full year, he wonders if maybe Harry’s getting more antsy on the subject. Part of him wonders if maybe _he_ should be more antsy, pushing more for them to be living on their own. He certainly likes the idea, but he’s not really that sure what Harry wants to do after they graduate. Eventually, he knows, Harry will have to live in the UK, in the multiple palaces, and since Harry’s perfectly serious about him, Louis’ll have to as well.

It’s been one of the things that has kept Louis stalling on moving out. He doesn’t want to get a place, settle in and then have to pick up again once they move for the UK for good. Or, in the unlikely event it’d happen, he’ll have to move back in with Liam and Niall if they broke up. _Not_ , though, that he has any fear about them breaking up. Harry’s made their relationship official, after all.

Louis’d made his debut as a new member, albeit not a formal member since he wasn’t even engaged yet to Harry, of the royal family back in December. There’d been a lot of flashing cameras as he’d walked that very first event at Harry’s side; he’d been so worried he’d trip on his own feet or throw up on some dignitary. But he’d survived the night, and the pictures didn’t look half bad. He knows his sister Lottie has at least one picture, cut out from a People’s magazine article on the debut of Prince Harry’s boyfriend, taped to her wall, although he hasn’t figured out yet if it’s because she’s proud of him, she has a crush on his boyfriend, or just wanted the laugh. She certainly won’t answer him when he asks, just laughs.

There’s still plenty of nuisance in his life because of his publicly coming out as Harry’s boyfriend. He can’t go places without there being at least one photographer waiting in wait for him when he arrives or leaves. He’s pretty sure that his professors and fellow students are annoyed by the intrusions they cause when he shows up for class or just walks across campus. He’s sure random strangers are annoyed when the photographers catch him walking into the Resch to catch Harry play hockey with his fellow Gamblers.

It’s why he feels pretty apprehensive when Harry suggests a drive when they wake up. He’s pretty sure, no matter where they go, someone’s going to figure out who they are, and there’s going to be a crowd of people. Not to mention photographers.

So he’s quite surprised when Harry drives them the short distance between their house and the Wildlife Sanctuary. There’s no way one of the free things to do in Green Bay is going to be free of people, but, as Harry shifts the SUV into park in the parking lot at the end of the curving drive into the Sanctuary, Louis notices that they’re the _only_ vehicle parked. That’s certainly unusual; the Sanctuary typically closes in the late afternoon, and has a locked gate at the very entrance to keep out anyone wanting to drive in after closing.

But certainly, they’d driven in with no issue. There were no signs saying the Sanctuary was closed. As he gets out of the vehicle following Harry’s lead, he can see the entrance to one of the many hiking trails that dot the Sanctuary wide open.

That’s even more odd.

“What’s going on?” He asks as he shuts the SUV’s door, the sound loud in the otherwise mostly quiet air. With no people around but them, he can hear the ducks and geese that call the Sanctuary home for the summer from the lake he knows is hidden on the other side of the Nature Center that rises up before them. “Not that I don’t appreciate a good surprise and all, but are you sure they’re even open? No one’s here.”

“I made a call.” Harry says simply, grinning over at Louis as they cross the bridge that separates the parking lot from the nature center. Louis stares at him for a few minutes in silence, taking in the dappled shadows that fall over the prince. It makes Harry grin broadly, clearly unashamed about being stared at. “Turns out, I’m something of a big deal.”

“That’s certainly a way of putting it.” Louis snorts as their feet go from the beaten wood of the bridge to the concrete once more. “Something of a big deal.”

“Just someone who’s made a lot of goals for the local hockey team,” Harry says playfully before pulling Louis to a step by the door. He stands there in front of Louis, pigeon-toed and earnest, with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. “I know we’re at the Nature Center, but did you want to hit it first or go take a walk on the trail toward the wolves?”

He hesitates a moment before pointing up the driveway they drove in on, like he’s suddenly second guessing whatever it is he’d had planned when they’d arrived. “Or we could still go to Bay Beach and do a bunch of rides?”

“Here’s fine.” Louis smiles. In the course of their time together, simply because Louis wanted to show off the city he’s called home for the last couple of years, there’s very little they _haven’t_ done locally. But he knows that the Wildlife Sanctuary and the NEW Zoo are two of Harry’s special favorites. Having been to London and seen the available choices for zoos and the like, Louis’ still floored that these two places dedicated to the care and rehabilitation of local wildlife are so near and dear to Harry’s heart.

Knowing that, and watching Harry become nervous over whether or not this is where Louis wants to be, tells Louis that, for whatever reason they're here, it means something important to Harry.

“Wolves, then.” Harry’s hand moves from where he was pointing toward the local amusement park to the start of the trail toward the Woodland Building and its animals. The hand starts to drop before it’s being slipped into Louis’ hand to tug him down the road toward the chosen trail. Harry doesn’t remove his hand when Louis goes willingly.

It’s a comfortable sort of quiet between and around them as their shoes go from the cement of the parking lot to the woodchips of the trail. It’s not entirely silent; they’re in a wildlife sanctuary after all and the various sounds of the animals that call this place home are all around them. Louis can hear the wolves howling from their enclosure, can hear the geese honking from the small lake near at hand. He can even hear the leaves rustling in the woods nearby from the passing of some small animal.

They reach the Woodland Building, and Louis’ struck again by how empty the place is with no one else around. How quiet the whole place is without kids running around and yelling happily as they climb the small playground that lies across the path from the squat building. How they don’t have to stand behind other people to see the otters swimming and frolicking in the first enclosure, or any of the other enclosures. As he moves onto the foxes in the next enclosure while Harry stays put to continue to watch the otters, he wonders why Harry had the sanctuary closed down just for the two of them. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard of the sanctuary closing for any reason. Even the yearly Walk for Wildlife doesn’t close the sanctuary from people not involved with the walk.

He’s watching the pair of foxes that call the enclosure home chase each other when he hears footsteps behind him. He turns toward the sound to find Harry watching him with a quiet smile ghosting across his face, hands tucked into his pockets. He looks so fond that it makes Louis feel self-conscious.

“What’s up?” He asks as he turns toward Harry completely, the fox enclosure behind him. He can still hear their scampering as they chase each other, but the rest of his attention is on Harry in front of him.

Harry doesn’t immediately answer, his gaze roving from Louis’ face to their surroundings. He takes so long to answer that, despite the warmth of the day, Louis wonders if Harry had brought him here to break up. That would explain the lack of anyone here: wouldn’t want anyone to see the future Prince who had formally announced his new boyfriend and partner only a few months before breaking up with said boyfriend. This thought doesn’t exactly mesh well with how nice the walk here had been, the comfortable silence that had existed between them on their walk. It definitely doesn’t match how happy Harry had looked as they’d arrived, how worried he’d been that maybe Louis didn’t want to be at the Sanctuary.

“We’re good, right?” Louis tries to keep the waver out of his voice as he asks, since Harry still hasn’t said a single word. There’s some nervousness to the other man’s stance, Louis can tell, from the way he can’t quite meet Louis’ eyes to the way his toes turn in a bit more. The nervousness Harry is displaying ramps up Louis’ own worry, wondering if maybe he did misread the situation, even as he’s telling himself he didn’t.

“We’re good,” Harry finally says on an exhale, like he’s breathing out whatever’s making him on edge. Getting out whatever’s keeping him from getting to the point. “We are…” He trails off, licking his lips the way Louis does when he’s trying to piece his thoughts together. Louis wonders when Harry had picked up that habit.

“We are so good,” Harry finally continues after a couple minutes of silence, finally meeting Louis’ eye. “So good. You’re amazing, you know? You’ve dealt with everything that has been thrown at you because I’m a prince with such…. Such grace, and strength that I’m _floored_ by you.”

Harry steps closer, taking Louis’ hands into his. His gaze drops to their fingers as he slots his fingers between Louis’, entangling them together. “You’re the best, you know? So many people would’ve run under the pressure I’ve put you under. So many people would break under it, or think I was cruel for springing it on them the way I did you originally.” Harry’s voice falters at that, trailing off into silence for a moment before he continues. “I’ve apologized to you for that, for not telling you the truth from the very beginning. But I know now that if I had been honest with you from the beginning, you would still have the same reaction to everything that’s happened.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow at that, remembering the uncomfortableness he’d felt when he’d thought Harry had had a fiancee back in London as well as the pain he’d felt when it had come out that Harry hadn’t been entirely truthful to him about being a prince. He doesn’t have to express either of those aloud, because Harry grimaces.

“Okay, so maybe some things would’ve changed if I’d been honest since our first meeting. But I explained that it was because I didn’t want a partner just because I was a prince.”

“You wanted an equal.” Louis provides when Harry falters again. He wonders if Harry had had whatever this is written down somewhere, with the intention of trying to memorize it, but now that the moment’s come, he’s forgotten all of it. He knows from experience that Harry’s fantastic when it comes to remembering what he’s learned when it comes to exams, has seen his own test scores go up since Harry came into his life and helped him study.

“I wanted an equal.” Harry chuckles softly, nodding. “I did. And you’ve gone above and beyond in being an equal, in everything that’s been asked of you. I can’t believe how amazingly you’ve handled it all.” He chuckles again, as self-conscious as Louis feels. That’s certainly a relief, to know Harry feels as off about the whole thing as Louis does. “Sorry, I had this whole speech planned out, this whole romantic scene playing out. But then I saw how you look, here in one of our favorite places and I just…” He shakes his head, and Louis wonders if he’s aware just how much what he’s saying is echoing Louis’ own thoughts. “I forget everything I want to say to you, but. I want you in my life. I want… so much with you. A future.”

There’s something buried in Harry’s words that makes Louis pause. Suddenly, the nervousness Harry’s been showing makes sense. The lack of other people, that it’s only them, makes sense.

As it dawns on him what Harry’s trying to come around to, his eyes widen. “Are you trying to propose here, Styles?”

Harry’s eyes snap up to Louis’, and donkey laughs in that way that never fails to make Louis’ belly feel warm. “Figures you’d come right out and say it. You were always better at expressing what you wanted than I am.” He breaks out into a warm smile. “But yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to get around to asking. Like I said, I had some idea of how to ask, but actually asking seems to be a lot harder than I thought. Not that I don’t want to, because I do. But…”

Louis pulls his hands from Harry’s, cupping Harry’s face and pulling him in for a kiss. It’s not a verbal yes, exactly, but he knows that Harry understands it as a yes.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me over on Tumblr [here](https://doncasterkitten.tumblr.com/) :)


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